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Published January 1932 in Amazing Stories
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Tumithak
of the Corridors
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By Charles R. Tanner
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Foreword
It is only within the last few years that
archeological science has reached a point where we may begin
to appreciate the astonishing advances in science that our
ancestors had achieved before the Great Invasion.
Excavations in the ruins of London and New York have been
especially prolific in yielding knowledge of the life that
those ancestors led. That they possessed the secret of
flying, and a knowledge of chemistry and electricity far
beyond ours is now certain; and there is even some evidence
that they surpassed us in medicine and some of the arts.
Taking their civilization as a whole, it is quite doubtful
if we have even yet surpassed them in general knowledge.
Until the time of the Invasion, their discoveries of
the secrets of Nature seem to have been made steadily in
regular geometric progression, and we have good cause to
believe that it was the people of earth who first solved the
secret of interplanetary flight. The many romances that have
been written by novelists dealing with this time, testify to
the interest which we of today take in the history of what
we call the Golden Age.
But the present story deals neither with the days of
the Invasion, nor with life as it was in the Golden Age
before it. It tells, instead, of the life of that semi-mythical, semi-historical character, Tumithak of Loor, who,
legend tells us, was the first man to rebel against the
savage shelks. Although innumerable facts are still lacking,
recent investigations in the Pits anti Corridors have thrown
much light on what was obscure in this hero’s life. That he
really lived and fought is now certain to be true; that he
accomplished the miracles accredited to him by legend is
just as certain to be untrue.
We can feel sure, for instance, that he never lived
for the two hundred and fifty years that arc ascribed to
him; that his wonderful strength and imperviousness to the
rays of the shelks are mythical, as are doubtless the
stories of his destruction of the six cities.
But our knowledge of his life increases as our
credibility in the legends decreases, and the time has come
when we can grasp dimly, but with a more rational viewpoint,
the truth about his deeds. So, in this tale, the author
makes an attempt to rationalize, to place properly in its
historical setting, the early life of a great hero who dared
to strike boldly for Mankind, in the days when the Beasts of
Venus held all the earth in thrall.
CHAPTER 1 – The Boy and the Book
As far as eye could see the long somber corridor
extended. Fifteen feet high and as many wide it ran on and
on, its brown, glassy walls presenting an unvarying
sameness. At intervals along the center line of the ceiling
large glowing lights appeared, flat plates of cool white
luminescence that had shone without attention for centuries.
At intervals equally frequent, were deep-cut doors, draped
with a rough burlap-like cloth, their sills worn down by the
passing generations of feet. Nowhere was the monotony of the
scene broken unless it were in some places, where the
corridor was crossed by another of equal simplicity.
The passage was by no means deserted. Here and there,
throughout its length, scattered figures appeared men, for
the most part blue-eyed and red-haired and dressed in rough
burlap tunics that were gathered at the waist by wide,
pocketed belts with enormous buckles. A few women were also
in evidence, differing from the men in the length of their
hair and tunics. All moved with a furtive slinking air, for
though it was many years since the Terror had been seen, the
habits of a hundred generations were not easily thrown off.
And so the hall, its frequenters, their clothes and even
their habits combined to complete the somber monotone.
From somewhere far below this corridor came the steady
beat and throb of some gigantic machine; a beat that
continued unceasingly and was so much a part of the life of
these people that it was only with difficulty that they
could be brought to notice it at all. Yes its beat bore down
on them, penetrated their minds, and, with its steady
rhythm, affected all that they did.
One part of the hall seemed to be more populous than
any other. The lights here glowed brighter, the cloths that
covered the doorways were cleaner and newer, and many more
people appeared. Sneaking in and out of the doorways they
went, for all the world like rabbits engaged in some big
business enterprise.
Out of one of the side doorways, a boy and girl
appeared. About fourteen years of age, they were
exceptionally tall for children, apparently having already
reached their full growth, though their immaturity was
evident. They, too, like their elders, were blue-eyed and
red-haired; a complexion due to the eternal lack of sunshine
and lifelong exposure to the rays of the corridor lights.
There was a certain boldness and quickness about them that
caused many of the folk of the corridor to frown
disapprovingly as they passed. One could see that these
older ones felt that the younger generation was fast riding
to destruction. Certainly, sooner or later, this boldness
and loudness would bring down the Terror from the Surface.
But sublimely indifferent to the disapproval that was
so in evidence around them, the two youngsters continued
upon their way. They turned from the main corridor into one
less brilliantly lighted, and after traversing it for nearly
a mile, turned into another. The hall in which they now
found themselves was narrow and inclined upward at a decided
angle. It was entirely deserted and the thick dust and
neglected condition of the lights showed that it was long
since men had lived here. The many doorways were without the
draped curtains that concealed the interior of the inhabited
apartments in the larger corridors; but many of the doorways
were almost entirely covered with draperies of cobwebs
covered with dust. The girl drew closer to the boy as they
continued up the passage; but aside from this she showed no
sign of fear. After some time the passageway grew steeper,
and at last ended in a cul-de-sac. The two seated themselves
in the rubble that littered the floor and presently began to
talk in a low tone.
"It must have been years since men have come here,"
said the girl, softly. "Perhaps we will find something of
great value which was left here when men deserted this
corridor."
"I think Tumithak is too hopeful, when he tells us of
possible treasures in these halls," answered the boy.
"Surely there have been men in these halls, searching as we
are, since they were abandoned."
"Tumithak should be here by now," the girl said, after a
while. "Do you think he will come?" Her eyes strove vainly
to pierce the gloom down the hallway.
"Why, of course, he will come, Thupra," said her
companion. "Has Tumithak ever failed to meet us as he
promised?"
"But to come here, alone!" protested Thupra. "I should
die of fright, Nikadur, if you weren't here."
"There isn't really any danger here," he said. "The
men of Yakra could never enter these halls without passing
through the main corridor. And many, many years have passed
since Loor has seen a shelk."
"Grandfather Koniak once saw a shelk," reminded
Thupra.
"Yes, but not here in Loor. He saw it in Yakra, years
ago, when he fought the Yakrans as a young man. Remember,
the Loorians were successful in their campaign against the
Yakrans and drove them out of their city and into the
corridors beyond. And then suddenly there was flame and
terror, and a band of shelks appeared. Grandfather Koniak
saw but one, and that one almost caught him before he
escaped." Nikadur smiled. "It is a wonderful tale, but I
think we have only Grandfather Koniales word for it."
"But really, Nikadur?" the girl was beginning, when
she was interrupted by a rustling noise from one of the
web-hung doorways. Like a flash, boy and girl both leapt to
their feet and sped in panic down the passage without so
much as a single glance backward, totally unaware of the
youth who had stepped from the doorway and who was now
leaning against the wall, watching their flight with a
cynical smile on his face.
At a glance, this youth seemed not unlike the others
who lived in the corridors. The same red hair and clear
translucent skin, the same rough tunic and enormous belt
characterized this lad as it did all the others of Loor. But
the discerning eye would have noticed in the immense brow,
the narrow, hooked nose and the keen eyes, a promise of the
greatness that was to some day be his.
The boy watched his fleeing friends for a moment and
then gave a low bird-like whistle. Thupra stopped suddenly
and turned around, and then, seeing the newcomer, called to
Nikadur. The boy stopped his flight, too, and together they
returned, rather shamefaced, to the end of the passage.
"You frightened us, Tumithak," said the girl,
reproachfully. "What in the world were you doing in that
room? Weren't you afraid to go in there alone?"
"Nothing is in there to hurt me," answered Tumithak,
loftily. "Often and often I have browsed around through
these corridors and apartments and never yet have I seen any
living thing, save the spiders and the bats. I was seeking
for forgotten things," he went on, and his eyes grew
suddenly brighter. "And look! I have found a book!" And,
reaching into the bosom of his tunic, he drew forth his
prize and exhibited it proudly to the others.
"This is an old book," he said. "See?"
It certainly was an old book. The cover was gone, more
than half the leaves were missing, and the thin metal sheets
of which the leaves were composed were even beginning to
oxidize on the edges. Certainly, this book had been lying
forgotten for centuries.
Nikadur and Thupra looked at it in awe, the awe that
an illiterate person naturally holds for all the mysteries
of the magic black marks that transmit thoughts. But
Tumithak could read. He was the son of Tumlook, one of the
food men, the men who held the secret of preparing the
synthetic food that these people lived on, and these food
men, as well as the doctors and the light and power men,
retained many of the secrets of the wisdom of their
ancestors. Foremost among these secrets was the very
necessary art of reading; and as Tumithak was intended to
follow in his father's footsteps, Tumlook had early trained
him in this wonderful art.
So, after the two had looked at the book and held it
in their hands, and wondered, they beseeched Tumithak to
read it to them. Often, they had listened in wide-eyed
wonder as he read to them from some of the rare works the
food men owned, and they never wasted a chance to watch the
apparently mystifying process of changing the queer marks on
the metal sheets into sounds and sentences.
Tumithak smiled at their importuning, and then,
because secretly he was as anxious as they to know what the
long-forgotten script contained, he motioned them to be
seated on the floor beside him, and opening the book, began
to read:
"The manuscript of Davon Starros, written at Pitmouth,
Sol 22nd, in the year of the Invasion, 161, or in the old
style--AD 3218."
Tumithak paused.
"That is an old book," whispered Nikadur in an awed
voice, and Tumithak nodded.
"Nearly two thousand years!" he answered, "I wonder
what the figures AD 3218 stand for?"
He puzzled over the book for a moment and then resumed
his reading.
"I am an old man, in these latter days, and to one who
can remember the day when men still dared to fight, now and
then, for liberty, it is indeed a bitter thing to see how
the race has fallen.
"There is growing up among men in these days a
hopeless superstition to the effect that man can never
conquer, and must never attempt to even battle with the
shelks, and it is to combat this superstition that the
author here writes the story of the conquest of earth, in
the hope that at some future time, a man will arise who will
have the courage to face the conquerors of Man and again do
battle. In the hope that this man will appear and that he
may know the creatures against whom he fights, this story is
written.
"The scientists who tell of the days before the
Invasion, inform us that man was once little more than a
beast. Through thousands of years he gradually worked his
way upward to civilization, learning the arts of living,
until he conquered all the world for his own.
"He learned the secret of producing food from the very
elements themselves, he learned the secret of imitating the
life-giving light of the sun, his great airships sped
through the atmosphere as easily as his waterships sped
through the sea. Wonderful, disintegrating rays dissolved
the hill that stood in his way, and as a result, long canals
brought water from the ocean to inaccessible deserts, making
them blossom like earth's most fertile regions. From pole to
pole, man's mighty cities grew, and from pole to pole man
was supreme.
"For thousands of years, men quarreled among
themselves, and great wars tore the earth, until at last
their civilization reached a point where these wars ceased.
A great era of peace settled down upon the earth, sea and
land alike were conquered by man, and he began to look out
to the other worlds that swung about the sun, wondering if
these, too, might not be conquered.
"It was many centuries before they learned enough to
attempt a journey into the depths of space. A way had to be
found to avoid the countless meteors that filled the paths
between the planets. A way had to be found to insulate
against the deadly cosmic rays. It seemed that no sooner was
one difficulty overcome than another arose to take its
place. But one after another the difficulties in the way of
interplanetary flight disappeared and at last the day came
when a mighty vessel, hundreds of feet long, lay ready to
leap into space to explore the other worlds."
Tumithak again paused in his reading.
"It must be a wonderful secret," he said. "I seem to
be reading words, but I do not know what they mean. Some one
is going somewhere, but that's about all I can make of it.
Shall I go on?"
"Yes! Yes!" they cried; so he continued:
"It was under the command of a man named Henric
Sudiven; and, of all the great company that manned it, only
he returned to the world of men to tell of the terrible
adventures that they met with on the planet Venus, the world
to which they traveled.
"The trip to Venus was a highly successful one, and
quite uneventful. Week after week passed, while the evening
star, as men called it, grew ever brighter and larger. The
ship worked perfectly, and though the journey was a long one
to those who were used to crossing an ocean in a single
night, the time did not hang heavy on their hands. The day
came when they sailed over the low rolling plains and broad
valleys of Venus, under the thick mantle of clouds that
forever hides the surface of that planet from the sun and
marveled at the great cities and works of civilization that
were in evidence everywhere.
"After hovering over a great city for some time, they
landed and were welcomed by the strange, intelligent
creatures that ruled over Venus; the same creatures that we
know today by the name of shelks. The shelks thought them
demi-gods and would have worshipped them; but Sudiven and
his companions, true products of earth's noblest culture,
scorned to dissemble; and when they had learned the language
of the shelks, told them quite truthfully just who they were
and from whence they came.
"The astonishment of the shelks knew no bounds. They
were skilled far more than men in mechanical science; their
knowledge of electricity and chemistry was quite as great;
but astronomy and its kindred sciences were totally unknown
to them. Imprisoned as they were under the eternal canopy of
clouds that bides forever the sight of outer space, they had
never dreamed of other worlds than the one they knew; and it
was only with difficulty that they were at last persuaded
that Sudiven's story was true.
"But, once convinced, the attitude of the shelks
underwent a decided change. No longer were they deferential
and friendly. They suspected that man had come only to
conquer them and they determined to beat him at his own
game. There was a certain lack of the more humane feelings
in the make-up of the shelks, and they were quite unable to
conceive of a friendly visit from strangers of another
world.
"The Tellurians soon found themselves locked up in a
great metal tower many miles from their space flier. In a
moment of carelessness, one of Sudiven's companions had let
drop the remark that this flier was the only one yet built
upon the earth, and the shelks decided to take advantage of
this fact, to begin at once the conquest of earth.
"They took possession at once of the Tellurians'
vessel, and with that unity of purpose that is so
characteristic of the shelks and so lacking in man, began at
once the construction of a vast number of similar machines.
All over the planet, the great machine-shops bummed and
clattered with the noise of the work; and while the earth
awaited the triumphal return of her explorers, the day of
her doom drew nearer and nearer.
"But Sudiven and the other Tellurians, locked up in
their tower, had not given up to despair. Time after time,
they attempted to escape, and there is no doubt but that the
shelks would have slain them to a man, had they not hoped to
extract further knowledge from them before they killed them.
For once the shelks were in error; they should have slain
the Tellurians, every one; for about a week before the date
set for the departure of the shelks' great fleet of
machines, Sudiven and about a dozen of his companions
managed to escape.
"At terrific risk they made their way across the
country to the place where their space car lay. An idea can
be had of the dangers of the journey when one realizes that
on Venus, that is, on the inhabited side, it is always day.
There was no concealing night to enable the Tellurians to
travel without hope of discovery. But at last they came upon
their car, guarded only by a few unarmed shelks. The battle
that ensued is one that should go down in man's history, to
inspire him in all the ages to come. When it was over the
shelks were all dead and only seven men were left to man the
space-flier on its journey back to earth.
"For weeks, the great bullet-shape flier sped across
the vast emptiness of space and at last landed upon the
earth. Sudiven alone remained alive when it landed; the
others had succumbed to some strange disease, a disease that
had been given to them by the shelks.
"But Sudiven was alive and remained alive long enough
to warn the world. Faced with this sudden terror, the world
had little time for any but defensive measures. The
construction of vast underground pits and caverns was begun
at once, the intention being to construct great underground
cities, in which man could hide himself and from which he
could emerge to conquer his enemies at his leisure. But
before they were well started, the shelks arrived and the
war was on!
"Never, in the days when man warred with man, had
anyone dreamed of a war like this. The shelks had arrived by
the millions; it was estimated that fully two hundred
thousand space cars took part in the invasion. For days
man's defensive measures kept the shelks from gaining a
landing space on the earth; they were forced to fly far
above the surface, dropping their deadly gases and
explosives where they could. From his subterranean halls,
man sent up vast quantities of gases as deadly as those of
the shelks, and their disintegrating rays sent hundreds of
the space-cars into nothingness, killing off the shelks like
flies. And from their fliers, the shelks dropped vast
quantities of flaming chemicals into the pits that men had
dug, chemicals that burned with terrific violence and
exhausted the oxygen of the caverns, causing men to perish
by the thousand.
"Ever, as men found themselves defeated by the shelks,
they drove deeper and deeper into the earth, their wonderful
disintegrations dissolving the rock almost as fast as man
could walk through the corridor it dug. Men were forced from
the Surface at last, and a million intricate warrens of
corridors and passages honeycombed the earth for miles
beneath the surface. It was impossible for the shelks to
ever thread the mazes of the innumerable labyrinths, and so
man reached a position of comparative safety.
"And thus came the deadlock.
"The Surface had become the property of the savage
shelks, while far below them in the pits and corridors, man
labored to hold on to the dregs of civilization that were
left him. An unequal game it was, for man was sadly
handicapped--the supplies of elements that produced the
disintegrating rays gradually diminished, and there was no
way of renewing them; they were unable to secure wood, or
the thousand and one varieties of vegetation on which their
industries were based; the men of one set of corridors had
no way of communicating with the men of another; and always
came hordes of shelks, down into the corridors, hunting men
for sport!
"The only thing that enabled them to live at all was
the wonderful ability to create synthetic foods out of the
very rock itself.
"So it was that man's civilization, fought for and won
after centuries of struggle, collapsed in a dozen years; and
over it was imposed the Terror. Men, like rabbits, lived a
life of fear and trembling in their underground holes,
daring less each year, as time went by, and spending all
their time and energy in devising means to sink their pits
deeper and deeper into the ground. Today it seems that man's
subjugation is complete. For over a hundred years, no man
has dared to think of revolt against the shelks, any more
than a rat would think of revolt against man. Unable to form
a unified government, unable even to communicate with his
brethren in the neighboring corridors, man has come to
accept, far too willingly, his place as merely the highest
of the lower animals. The spider-like Beasts of Venus are
the supreme Masters of our planet, and-"
The manuscript had come to an end. Although the book
had originally been much longer, although, indeed, what was
left of it was probably little more than an introduction to
some work on the life and customs of the shelks, the
remainder was missing and the droning sing-song voice of
Tumithak ceased as he read the concluding unfinished
sentence. For several moments there was silence and then?
"How hard it was to understand," said Thupra. "I only
know that men were fighting with shelks, just as though they
were Yakrans."
"Who could have conceived such a story?" murmured
Nikadur. "Men fighting with shelks: Of all the impossible
tales!"
Tumithak did not answer. For quite a while he sat in
silence and stared at the book as one who suddenly beheld
some dazzling vision.
At last he spoke.
"Nikadur, that is history!" he exclaimed. "That is no
strange impossible tale of fancy. Something tells me that
those men really lived; that that war was really fought: How
else can we explain the life that we live. Have we not
wondered often--have not our fathers wondered before us--how
our wise ancestors ever gained the wisdom to build the great
pits and corridors? We know that our ancestors had great
knowledge; how did they come to lose it?
"Oh, I know that no legend of ours even suggests such
a thing as men ruling this world," he went on, as he saw the
incredulous look in the eyes of his companions. "But there
is something--something in that book that tells me it is
surely true. Just think, Nikadur! That book was written only
a hundred and sixty years after the savage shelks invaded
the earth! How much more that writer must have known than we
who live two thousand years later. Nikadur, once men fought
with shelks!" He arose, his eyes gleaming with the first
glow of the fanatical light that, in after years, was to
make him a man apart from his fellows, "Once men fought with
shelks: and with the help of the High One, they shall do so
again! Nikadur! Thupra! Some day I shall fight a shelk," he
flung his arms wide, "some day I shall slay a shelk!
"And to that I dedicate my life!"
He stood for a moment with his arms outstretched, and
then, as if oblivious of their presence, he dashed down the
hallway and in a moment was lost in the gloom. For a moment
the two stared after him in amazement, and then, clasping
hands, they walked slowly, soberly after him. They knew that
something had suddenly inspired their friend, but whether it
was genius or madness they could not tell. And they were not
to know with certainty for many years.
CHAPTER II - The Three Strange Gifts
Tumlook contemplated his son proudly. The years that
had passed since he had discovered the strange manuscript
and acquired his strange obsession may have ruined his
mind, as some said, but they had certainly been kind to him,
physically. Six feet tall, Tumithak stood (an exceptional
height for these dwellers in the corridors), and every inch
seemed to be of iron muscle. Today, on his twentieth
birthday, there was not a man that would not have hailed him
as one of the leaders of the city, had it not been for his
preposterous mania. For Tumithak was resolved to kill a
shelk!
For years—in fact, since he had found the manuscript,
at the age of fourteen—he had directed all his studies to
this end. He had poured over maps of the corridors, ancient
maps that had not been used for centuries—maps that showed
the way to the Surface—and he was known to be an authority
on all the secret passages in the pit. He had little idea of
what the Surface was really like; there was little in the
stories of his people to tell him of it. But of one thing he
was certain, and that was, that on the Surface he would find
the shelks.
He had studied the various weapons that man could
still rely on—the sling, the sword, and the bow; and had
made himself proficient in the use of all three. Indeed, in
every way possible, he had prepared himself for the great
work to which he had decided to devote his life. Of course,
he had met with the opposition of his father, of the whole
tribe, for that matter; but with the singleness of purpose
that only a fanatic can attain, he persisted in his idea,
resolved that when he was of age he would bid his people
adieu, and set out for the Surface. He had given little
thought to the details of what he would do when he arrived
there. That would all depend on what he found. One thing he
was sure of—that he would kill a shelk and bring its body
back to show his people that men could still triumph over
those who thought they were man’s masters.
And today he became of age; today he was twenty.
Tumlook could not resist being secretly proud of this
astounding son of his, even though he had done everything
in his power to turn him from the impossible dream that he
had conceived. Now that the day had come when Tumithak was
to start on his absurd quest, Tumlook had to admit that in
his heart, he had long been one with Tumithak, and that now
he was eager to see the boy started on his way. He spoke:
“Tumithak,” he said, “For years, I have sought to turn
you from the impossible task that you have set yourself. For
years, you have opposed me and persisted in believing in the
actual possibility of achieving your dream. And now the day
has come when you are to actually set out to achieve it. Do
not think that it was anything other than a father’s love
that led me to oppose your ambition, and to try and keep you
in Loor. But now that the day has come when you are free to
(10 as you please, and as you are still determined to make
your incredible attempt, you must at least allow your father
to help you all he can.”
He paused and lifted to the table a box about a foot
square. He opened it and drew from it three strange-looking
objects.
“Here,” he said, impressively, “Arc three of the most
precious treasures of the food-men; implements devised by
our wise ancestors of old. “This one,” and he picked up a
cylindrical tube about an inch in diameter and a foot long,
“is a torch, a wonderful torch that will give you light in
the dark corridors, by merely pressing this button. Take
care hot to waste its power, it is not made of the eternal
light that our ancestors set in the ceilings. It is based on
a different principle and after a certain time its power is
exhausted,”
Tumlook picked up the next object gingerly.
“This, too, is something that will surely help you,
though it is neither so rare nor so wonderful as the other
two. It is a charge of high explosive, such as we use
occasionally for closing a corridor, or in mining the
elements from which our food is made. There is no telling
when it may come in handy, on your way to the Surface.
“And here,” he picked tip the last article, which
looked like a small pipe with a handle set on one end, at
right angles, “Here is the most wonderful article of all. It
shoots a small pellet of lead, and it shoots it with such
force that it will pierce even a sheet of metal! Each time
this small trigger on the side is pressed, a pellet is
ejected from the mouth of the pipe, with terrific force. It
kills, Tumithak, kills even quicker than an arrow, and much
surer. Use it carefully, for there are but ten pellets, and
when they are gone, the instrument is useless.” He
laid the three articles on the table before him, and pushed
them across to Tumithak. The younger man took them and
stowed them carefully in the pockets of his wide belt.
“Father,” he said, slowly, “You know it is not
anything in my heart that commands me to leave you and go on
this quest. There is something, higher than either of you or
I, that has spoken to me and that I must obey. Since
mother’s death, you have been both mother and father to me,
and so I probably love you more than the average man loves
his father. But I have had a Vision! I dream of a time when
Man will once again rule on the Surface and not a shelk will
exist to oppose him. But that time can never come as long as
men believe the shelks to be invincible, and so I am going
to prove that they can really be slain—and by men!“
He paused and before he could continue, the door
opened and Nikadur and Thupra entered. The former was a man
now, the responsibility of a householder having fallen upon
him at his father’s death, two years before. And the latter
had grown into a beautiful woman, a woman that Nikadur was
soon to marry. They both greeted Tumithak with deference and
when Thupra spoke, it was in an awed voice, as one who
addressed a demy-god; and Nikadur, too, had obviously come
to look upon Tumithak as something more than mortal. These
two, with the possible exception of Tumlook, were the only
ones who took Tumithak seriously, and so they were the only
ones that he would call his friends.
“Do you leave us today, Tumithak?” asked Thupra.
Tumithak nodded. “Yes,” he answered. “This very clay,
I start for the Surface. Before a month has gone by, I will
lie dead in sonic distant corridor, or you shall look on the
head of a shelk!”
Thupra shuddered. Either of these alternatives seemed
terrible enough to her. But Nikadur was thinking of the more
immediate dangers of the journey.
“You will have no trouble on the road to Nonone,” he
said, thoughtfully, ‘But mustn’t you pass through the town
of Yakra on the way to the Surface?”
“Yes,” answered Tumithak. “There is no road to the
Surface, except through Yakra. And beyond Yakra are the Dark
Corridors, where men have not ventured for hundreds of
years.”
Nikadur considered. The city of Yakra had for over a
century been the enemy of the people of Loor. Situated as
it was, more than twenty miles nearer the Surface than
Loor, it was inevitable that it should be much more
conscious of the Terror. And it was just as inevitable that
the people of Yakra should envy the Loorians their
comparative safety, and continually make attempts to seize
the city for their own. The small town of Nonone, located
between the two larger cities, found itself sometimes
fighting with the Yakrans, sometimes against them, as suited
the convenience of the chiefs of the more powerful cities.
Just at present, and indeed for the past twenty years, it
was allied to Loor, and so Tumithak expected no trouble on
his journey until he attempted to pass through Yakra.
“And the Dark Corridors?” questioned Nikadur.
“Beyond Yakra, there are no lights,” replied Tumithak.
“Men have avoided these passages for centuries. They are
entirely too near the Surface for safety. Yakrans have at
times attempted to explore them, but the parties that went
out never returned. At least, so the men of Nonone have told
me.”
Thupra was about to make some remark, but Tumithak
turned and busied himself with the pack of foodstuff that he
intended to take with him on his journey. He slung it over
his back and turned toward the door.
“The time has come for me to begin my journey,” he
said impressively. “This is the moment that I have awaited
for years. Farewell, father Farewell, Thupra! Nikadur, take
good care of my little friend, and—if I do not return, name
your first-born after me.”
With a dramatic gesture that was characteristic of
him, he thrust the door curtain aside and strode out into
the corridor. The three followed him, calling and waving as
he walked on up the hallway, but without so much as a
backward glance, he strode along until he disappeared in the
distant gloom.
They stood, then, for a while, and then, with a dry
sob, Tumlook turned and reentered the apartment.
“He’ll never return,” he muttered to Nikadur. “He’ll
never return, of course.”
Nikaclur and Thupra answered nothing, only standing in
uncomfortable silence. There was nothing consoling that they
might say. Tumlook was right and it would have been foolish
to attempt words of condolence that would have obviously
been false.
The road that led from Loor to Nonone inclined very
gradually upward. It was not an entirely strange road to
Tumithak, for long ago he had been to that small town with
his father ; but the memory of the road was faint and now he
found much to interest him as he left the lights of the
populous portion of the town behind him. The entrances of
other corridors continually appeared, corridors that were
constructed to add to the labyrinthine maze that made it
impossible for the creatures from the upper Surface to find
their way into the great pits. The way did not lead along
the broad main corridor for long. Often Tumithak would take
his own Way down what appeared to he quite an insignificant
hallway, only to have it suddenly branch into another larger
one, farther on.
It must not he supposed that Tumithak had so quickly
forgotten his home in his anxiety to be on his quest. Often,
as he passed some familiar sight, a lump would come into his
throat and he would almost be tempted to give up his journey
and return. Twice Tumithak passed food-rooms, rooms where
the familiar mystic machines throbbed eternally, building up
out of the very rocks their own fuel and the tasteless
biscuits of food that these people lived on. It was then
that his homesickness was the greatest, for many times he
had watched his father operating such machines as these, and
the memory made him realize poignantly all that he was
leaving behind. But like all of the inspired geniuses of
humanity, at times such as this, it almost seemed as if
something outside of himself took charge of him and forced
him on.
Tumithak turned from the last large corridor to a
single winding hall not more than a half dozen feet in
width. There were no doorways along this hail and it was
much steeper than any he had yet climbed. It ran on for
several miles and then entered a larger passage through a
door that was seemingly but one of a hundred similar ones
that lined this new passage. These doors were apparently
those of apartments, but the apartments seemed to be unused,
for there were no signs of inhabitants in this district.
Probably this corridor had been abandoned for some reason
many years ago.
There was nothing strange in this to Tumithak,
however. He knew quite well that these doorways were only to
add extra confusion to the ones who sought to thread the
maze of corridors, and he continued on his way, without
paying the slightest attention to the many branching
hallways, until he came to the room he sought.
It was an ordinary apartment, to all appearances, but
when Tumithak found himself inside, he hastened to the rear
and began to feel carefully over the walls. In a corner, he
found what he was searching for—a ladder of metal bars,
leading upward. Confidently, he began the ascent, mounting
steadily upward in the dark; and as minute followed minute,
the faint glow of light that shone in from the corridor
below grew smaller and smaller.
At last he reached the top of the ladder, and found
himself standing at the mouth of the pit, in a room similar
to the one he had left below. He strode out of the room into
another of the familiar door-lined corridors and turning in
the direction that led upward, continued his journey. He was
on the level of Nonone now, and if he hurried, he knew that
he might reach that town before the time of sleep.
He hastened along, and presently he perceived a party
of men in the distance, who gradually approached him. He
drew into an apartment from which he peered out cautiously,
until he assured himself that they were Nononese. The red
color of their tunics, their narrow belts, and the peculiar
way they had of dressing their long hair convinced him that
these were friends and so Tumithak showed himself and waited
for the party to approach him. When they saw him, the
foremost man, who was evidently the leader, hailed him.
“Is not this Tumithak of Loor?” he asked, and as
Tumithak replied in the affirmative, he continued, “I am
Nennapuss, chief of the people of Nonone. Your father has
acquainted us with the facts of your journey and asked us to
be looking for you about this time. We trust that you will
spend the next sleep with us; and if there is anything that
we can do to add to your comfort or safely on your journey,
you have but to command us.”
Tumithak almost smiled at the rather pompous speech
which the chief had evidently prepared beforehand, but he
answered gravely that he would indeed be indebted if
Nennapuss could provide him with sleeping quarters. The
chief assured him that the best in the town would be
provided and, turning, led Tumithak off in the direction
from which he and his party had come.
They traversed several miles of deserted passages
be-fore they finally came to the inhabited halls of Nonone,
but once here, the hospitality of Nennapuss knew no bounds.
The people of Nonone were assembled in the “Great Square,”
as the juncture of the two main corridors was called, and
in a florid, flowing speech that was characteristic of him,
Nennapuss told them of Tumithak and his quest; and presented
him, as it were, with the keys of the city.
After an answering speech by Tumithak, in which the
Loorian worked himself up into a fine fury of eloquence on
his favorite subject—his journey—a banquet was prepared; and
even though the food was only the tasteless biscuits that
constituted the sole diet of these people, they gorged
themselves to repletion. When Tumithak at last fell asleep,
it was with the feeling that here, at least, a tentative
slayer of shelks might find appreciation. Had not the
proverb been buried in centuries of ignorance and
forgetfulness, he might have mused that a prophet is,
verily, not without honor save in his own country.
Tumithak arose about ten hours later and prepared to
bid goodbye to the people of Nonone. Nennapuss insisted
that the Loorian have breakfast with his family and Tumithak
willingly complied. The sons of Nennapuss, two lads in
their early teens, were enthusiastic, during the meal, with
the wonderful idea that Tumithak had conceived. Though the
idea of any other man facing a shelk was incredible to them,
they seemed to think that Tumithak was something more than
the average mortal, and plied him with a hundred questions
as to his plans. But, beyond having studied the long route
to the Surface, Tumithak’s plans were decidedly vague, and
he was unable to tell them how he would slay his shelk.
After the meal, he again shouldered his pack and
started up the corridor. The chief and his retinue followed
him for several miles and as they went, Tumithak questioned
Nennapuss closely as to the condition of the passages to
Yakra and beyond.
“The road on this level is quite safe,” said
Nennapuss, in answer to his questions. “It is patrolled by
men of my city and no Yakran ever enters it without our
being aware of it. But the pit that leads to the level of
Yakra is always guarded at the top by the Yakrans, and I do
not doubt but that you will have trouble when you try to get
out of that pit.”
Tumithak promised to use an extra amount of caution
when he reached this spot, and a short time later,
Nennapuss and his companions said good-by to him and he
trudged on alone.
He moved more warily, now, for though the Nononese patrolled
these corridors, he knew quite well that it was possible for
enemies to evade the guards and raid the corridors as had
often been done in the past. He kept well in the middle of
the corridor, away from the many doorways, any one of which
may have concealed a secret road to Yakra, and he seldom
passed one of the branching ways without peering carefully
UI) and down it, before venturing to cross it.
But Tumithak was fortunate in meeting no one in the
corridors, and after half a day he came at last to another
apartment in which was located a shaft almost exactly
similar to the one that had brought him to Nonone.
He mounted this ladder much more stealthily than he
had the first one, for he was quite confident that a Yak-ran
guard was at the top and he had no desire to be toppled
backward into the pit when he reached there. As he drew near
the end of the ladder, he drew his sword, but again luck
favored him, for the guard had apparently left the room at
the top of the well, and Tumithak drew himself up into the
room and prepared to enter the corridor.
But he had moved only a scant half dozen feet when his
luck deserted him. He bumped violently into a table that he
had failed to notice in the gloom, and the resulting noise
brought a bull—like bellow from the corridor without. The
next moment, sword in hand, a veritable giant of a man
dashed through the door and made for Tumithak.
CHAPTER III - The Passing of Yakra
That the man was a Yakran, Tumithak would have known,
had he met him in the depths of Loor. Though the Loorian
knew of the Yakrans only through the stories of the older
men, who remembered the wars with that city, he saw at once
that this was just the kind of barbarian that had figured in
the stories. He was fully four inches taller than Tumithak,
and far broader and heavier, and his chin was covered with a
tremendous, bristly growth of beard—sufficient evidence in
itself that the owner was of Yakra. His tunic was covered
with bits of bone and metal sewn into the cloth, the former
stained in various colors and sewn in a crude pattern.
Around his neck was a necklace made of dozens of
finger-bones threaded on a thin strip of skin.
Tumithak saw in an instant that he would have little
chance with this huge Yakran if he were to stand fairly up
to him, and so, even as he drew his sword and prepared to
defend himself, he was casting about in his mind for some
method to overcome him by strategy. The most probable plan,
he decided at once, would be to drive him somehow into the
pit; but to drive this colossus was almost as impossible as
to defeat him by face to face fighting methods. And before
Tumithak could devise any more subtle method of overcoming
his adversary, he found his entire mind taken up with
methods of defending himself.
The Yakran rushed at him, still shouting his rumbling
war-cry, and it was but the merest luck that enabled
Tumithak to avoid the first terrific blow aimed at him.
Tumithak dropped to one knee, but in a moment was up again
and only just in time to avoid another sweep of that
glistening sword. On his feet again, however, his defense
was perfect, and the Yakran found it necessary to retire a
step or two, in order to prepare another of his lunging
rushes.
Again and again the Yakran rushed at Tumithak, and it
was only the Loorian’s uncanny skill at fencing, learned
through many years in the hope of facing a shelk, that saved
him. Around and around the table, now close to the pit and
now farther away, they fought ; until even Tumithak’s
steel-like muscles began to tire.
But as his body tired, brain quickened, and at last a
plan came to him to defeat the Yakran, He allowed himself to
be gradually forced to the edge of the pit and then, as he
parried a particularly powerful lunge, he suddenly threw one
hand high in the air and screamed. The Yakran, believing
that he had struck him, smiled a vicious smile and stepped
back for a final rush. Sword pointing at Tumithak’s breast,
he dashed forward, and as he did so, Tumithak threw himself
at his opponent’s feet.
There was a wild howl from the giant as he stumbled
over the recumbent form, but before he could recover
himself, he dropped heavily at the very edge of the pit.
Tumithak kicked wildly, and the great Yakran, grasping
frantically at the air, dropped into the well! There was a
hoarse cry from the darkness below, a heavy thud and then
silence.
For several minutes, Tumithak lay panting at the edge
of the pit. This was the first battle he had ever had with a
man, and though he was the victor, it was only by a miracle,
it seemed, that he had not been defeated. What would the
people of Loor and Nonone say, he wondered, if they knew
that their self-appointed slayer of shelks had been so
nearly defeated by the first enemy that had attacked him—and
that enemy not a shelk, but a man, and a man of despised
Yakra, at that? For several minutes, the Loorian lay, filled
with self-reproach, and then, reflecting that if all his
enemies were conquered with a margin even so small as this,
his victory was certain, he arose, pulled himself together
and left the room.
He was in Yakra now, and it was necessary for him to
find some means of passing safely through the city in order
to reach the (lark corridors beyond. For only through these
dark corridors might he win his way to the upper Surface. He
continued cautiously on his way, turning over in his brain
plan after plan that would enable him to deceive the
Yakrans; but he was almost within sight of the inhabited
walls of Yakra before he conceived an idea that seemed to
him to be feasible.
-
-
There was but one thing that all men in these pits
feared, with a fear that was quite unreasoning: And it was
upon this unreasoning fear that Tumithak decided to play.
-
-
He began to run. He ran slowly at first, a mere trot,
but as he drew nearer the corridors where men lived, he
increased his pace, running faster and faster until he was
fleeing along like one who had all the demons of hell at his
back. Which was precisely the effect that he wished to
produce.
-
-
In the distance he saw a group of Yakrans
approaching. They beheld him at the same time that he spied
them, and in a moment more were charging down on him; quite
aware, as he knew, that he was not a Yakran. Instead of
trying to avoid them, he charged straight into their midst,
screaming at the top of his lungs.
-
-
“Shelks!” he shouted, as though in the last stages of
terror, “Shelks!"
-
-
The bellicose attitude of the men changed at once to
one of extreme fright. Without a word to Tumithak or even so
much as a backward glance, they turned, and as he dashed
past them, they sped panic-stricken after him. Had they been
men of Loor, they might have paused long enough to
investigate, or at least, have held Tumithak and questioned
him. But not these Yakrans. This town was many miles nearer
the Surface than Loot, and many of the older men could still
remember the time that the shelks had raided these halls on
one of their rare hunting expeditions, leaving a trail of
death and destruction that would never be forgotten while
those that witnessed it lived. So the terror was far more of
a living thing to Yakra than it was to Loor, to whom it was
little more than a terrible legend of the past.
-
-
And so, without a word of question, the Yakrans fled
down the long corridor after Tumithak, through branching
hallways and through doorways that seemed mere entrances to
apartments, but were actually roads to the main corridor.
Several times they passed other men or groups of men, but at
the fearful cry of “Shelks” these always dropped whatever
they were doing and followed the frightened throng. A good
many dashed down branching corridors, in which, they
imagined, lay greater safety; but the majority continued on
their way to the heart of the city, the direction in which
Tumithak was going.
-
-
The Loorian was no longer in the lead now, several of
the fleeter Yakrans had passed him, terror lending wings to
their feet. And so the size of the mob grew, and was
augmented by greater and greater numbers as they came closer
to the town center; until at last the corridor was filled
with a screaming, terrified multitude in which Tumithak was
completely lost.
-
-
They neared the wide main corridor, and here they
found a great mass of people that had surged in from every
one of the branching corridors. How the news had traveled so
quickly, Tumithak was unable to guess, but apparently the
entire city was already aware of the supposed danger. And
like sheep, or rather, like the humans they were, all had
been seized with the same idea—the desire to reach the
center of the city, where, they supposed, the greatest
safety lay in the presence of the greatest numbers.
-
-
But now this frenzied confusion bade fair to defeat
the plan that Tumithak had devised to cross the city safely
under cover of the excitement he caused. To be sure, he had
almost won to the center of the city without discovery, and
the inhabitants were so wrought tip that there would be
little chance of anyone noticing that he was a stranger; but
so thickly packed was the crowd that it became more and more
certain that the Loorian was not going to he able to work
his way through, in order to reach the corridors beyond. Yet
in spite of the apparent hopelessness, Tumithak struggled
along with the frantic mob, hoping against hope that he
might gain a comparatively clear corridor beyond the city’s
center before the fright of the people died down to the
point where they would begin the inevitable search for the
one who had started the panic.
-
-
The crowd, its fright enhanced by that strange sense
of telepathy that is evident in any large assembly of
people, was becoming dangerous. Men were using their fists
freely to hatter their way, they passed their weaker
brothers, and here and there voices could be heard, high
pitched with anger. Tumithak saw a man stumble and fall, and
a moment later, heard a scream as the un fortunate one was
trampled on by the ones behind him. Hardly had the scream
died away when there was another cry from the opposite side
of the passage, where another man had fallen and found
himself unable to regain his feet.
-
-
The Loorian seemed little more than a leaf borne along
on the stream of shouting, gesticulating Yakrans by the time
he reached the center of the city. Time after time he had
almost been swept from his feet, only to regain his balance
by what seemed a miracle. He had nearly gained the huge
square that marked the crossing of the two main corridors
when he stumbled over a fallen Yakran and almost went down.
He attempted to pass on, and then stopped. The form beneath
his feet was that of a woman with a baby in her arms!
-
-
Her face was tear-stained and bleeding, her clothes
were torn in a dozen places, yet she was attempting bravely
to prevent the injury of her child beneath the feet of the
multitude. Tumithak instantly stooped over to raise her to
her feet, but even before he could do so, the crowd had
pushed him almost beyond the reach of her. Sudden anger
swept over him, and plunging out wrathfully, he dealt blow
after blow into the faces of the onrushing multitude of
creatures, who would have crushed one of their own people in
their anxiety for personal safety. The Yakrans yielded
before his blows, poured on either side of him for a moment,
and in that moment, Tumithak stooped and raised the woman to
her feet.
-
-
She was still conscious, as the wan smile that she
bestowed upon him showed, and though he knew she was an
enemy of his people, Tumithak felt a momentary pity that his
ruse to frighten the Yakrans had been so successful. She was
trying to tell him something, but so great were the confused
shouts that it was impossible for him to understand her. He
bent down his head to hers to hear what she had to say.
-
-
“The doorway across the hail,” she screamed in his
ear, “Try to get through the crowd to the third doorway
across the hail! There is safety there !“
-
-
Tumithak placed her in front of him and drove
savagely into the crowd, his fists flashing out around her
and protecting her as they moved. It was hard to keep from
being hustled, against his will, into the central square,
but at last he gained the doorway and thrust the woman
through it. He followed her inside, and gave a great gasp of
relief as he found himself free from the struggles of the
crowd. He stood for a moment in the doorway, to assure
himself that nobody intended to follow them, and then
turned back to the woman with the child.
-
-
She had torn a small piece of cloth from the sleeve of
her tattered garment and as he faced her, she paused from
wiping the blood and tears from her face long enough to
flash him a frightened, little smile. Tumithak could not but
wonder at the apparent gentleness and refinement of this
woman of savage Yakra. He had been taught to believe, since
childhood, that the Yakrans were a strange race, not unlike
our concept of goblins and witches, and yet, this woman
might have been a daughter of one of the best families of
Loor. Tumithak had to learn that in no matter what nation or
age one finds oneself, he will find gentleness, if he
looks, as well as savagery.
-
-
All this while the child, who had evidently been too
frightened to cry, had been as silent as though dead, but
now it set up a lusty screaming. The mother, after
attempting for several moments to silence it with croonings
and whispers, at last applied nature’s first silencer, and
as the child quieted down and began nursing, she arose and
motioning Tumithak to follow, led the way to the doorway
across the room and entered the rear of the apartment. She
was gone a moment, and then she called to the Loorian, and
with a realization of what she meant dawning in his mind, he
followed her. In the next room, sure enough, the woman
pointed to the ceiling and showed him the circular hole of a
shaft- leading upward.
-
-
“Here is the entrance to an old corridor that is not
known to more than twenty people in all Yakra,” she said,
“It leads across the square to the upper end of the city. We
can hide up there for days and the shelks will probably
never know that we exist. Here is safety.”
-
-
Tumithak nodded and began the ascent of the ladder,
pausing only long enough to assure himself that the woman
was following him. The ladder extended not more than thirty
feet upward and then they found themselves in the dark in a
corridor that must have been unused for many centuries. So
dark was it that as soon as they moved away from the pit
shaft, it was impossible to distinguish the faintest glow of
light. Certainly the woman was right in calling this an
unknown corridor. Even Tumithak’s maps had never told him of
this passage.
-
-
The woman seemed to be quite at home in the passage,
however, for with a whispered word to Tumithak, she began to
feel her way along the wall, only stopping now and then to
whisper softly to her baby. Tumithak followed her, keeping
one hand on her shoulder and so they felt their way along
until they came at last to a spot where a single light
glowed dimly, and here the woman sat down to rest. Tumithak
did likewise, and the woman, reaching into her pocket, drew
out a crude needle and thread and began to stitch the tears
in her garment. Presently she spoke.
-
-
“Isn’t it terrible,” she whispered, her voice hushed
as though she feared that even here the shelks might be
listening. ‘What has started them to hunting again, I
wonder?”
-
-
Tumithak made no reply and in a moment, she continued:
-
-
“My grandfather was killed in a shelk raid. That must
have been nearly forty years ago. And now they have come
upon us again! My poor husband! I separated from him almost
as soon as we left our apartment. Oh! I do hope he reaches
safety. He doesn’t know about this corridor.” She looked to
him for comfort. “Do you think he will be safe?”
-
-
Tumithak smiled.
-
-
“Will you believe me if I tell you that he is surely
safe from the shelks?“ he asked, “Truly, I can assure you
that he will not be slain by the shelks in this raid.”
-
-
“I only hope you are right,” the woman began, and
then, as if she had noticed him for the first time, she
continued, suddenly, “You are not of Yakra!“
-
-
And then, quite positively and harshly, “You are a man
of Loor!“
-
-
Tumithak realized that the woman had at last noticed
the Loorian clothes that he wore, and so made no attempt to
dissemble.
-
-
“Yes,” he answered, “I am of Loor.”
-
-
The woman arose in consternation, clasping her baby
tighter to her breast, as though to protect it from this
ogre from the lower corridors.
-
-
“What are you doing in these halls?” she asked,
fearfully, “Is it you that have brought this raid down upon
us? I could well believe that the men of Loor would ally
themselves with the shelks, if such a thing were possible.
And surely, this is the first time in history that the
shelks ever came upon us from the lower end of the city.”
-
-
Tumithak considered for a moment. He saw no reason
why he should not tell this woman the truth. It could do him
no harm, and might at least put her mind at rest, regarding
the safety of her husband.
-
-
“It will probably be the last time that the shelks
ever come upon you from the lower end of the city, too,” he
said, and in a few brief words, he explained to her his ruse
and its rather appalling success. The woman was puzzled.
-
-
“But why should you desire to pass through Yakra?” she
asked, incredulously, “Are you going into the dark
corridors? What man in his senses would desire to explore
them?“
-
-
“I am not seeking to explore the dark corridors,” the
Loorian answered. “My goal lies even beyond them!“
-
-
“Beyond the dark corridors?”
-
-
“Yes,” said Tumithak, and rose to his feet. As always
when he spoke of his “mission,” he was, for the moment, a
dreamer, a fanatic.
-
-
“I am Tumithak,” he said, “I am the slayer of the
shelk! You wish to know why I seek to go beyond the dark
corridors? It is because I am on my way to the Surface. For
on the Surface is a shelk that, all unknowing, awaits his
doom! I am going to slay a shelk!”
-
-
The woman gazed at him in consternation. She was quite
certain, now, that she was alone with a madman. No other
could even conceive such an incredible thought. She clasped
her child tighter to her and drew away from him.
-
-
Tumithak was quick to notice her attitude. He had,
many times before, seen people draw away from him in just
the same manner, when he spoke of his mission. And so, quite
unoffended by her unflattering opinion of him, he began to
explain to her why he believed it possible for men to once
more engage in battle with the masters of the Surface.
-
-
The woman listened for a while, and as he waxed more
and more eloquent on his subject, Tumithak saw that she was
beginning to believe. He told her of the book he had found,
and how it had decided for him what his mission in life
should be. He told her of the three strange gifts of his
father, and how he hoped they would help him to be
successful in his quest. And at last, he saw the look come
into her eyes that he had often seen in Thupra’s, and knew
that she believed.
-
-
The woman’s thoughts, however, had been quite
different from what Tumithak believed. She had listened, to
be sure, but as she listened, she was thinking of the fury
with which Tumithak had attacked the terror-stricken mob
that had nearly crushed her. She was studying the erect,
handsome form of him, the smooth-shaven face and keen eyes;
and comparing him with the men of Yakra. Ann! at last she
believed, not because of Tumithak’s eloquence, but because
of the age-old appeal of sex.
-
-
“It is well that you saved me,” she said at last, when
the Loorian paused in his story. “It would have hardly been
possible for you to force your way through the lower
corridors. Up here, you may cross Yakra at your leisure, and
leave it whenever you will. I will show you the way to the
upper end of the city, now, if you wish.”
-
-
She arose.
-
-
“Come, I will guide you. You are a Loorian and an
enemy, but you saved my life, and one who would slay a shelk
is surely the friend of all mankind.”
-
-
She took him by the hand (though that was hardly
necessary), and led him on into the darkness. Minute after
minute passed in silence and then, at last, she paused and
whispered, “The corridor ends here.”
-
-
She stepped into the doorway, and following her,
Tumithak discerned a faint light coming up through a shaft
from the corridor below.
-
-
He dropped down the ladder that he could see dimly in
the gloom, and in a moment was in the lower corridor. The
woman followed him, and when she reached the ground she
pointed up the corridor.
-
-
“If you are really going to the Surface, your road
lies that way,” she said, “and we must part here. My road
lies back into the town. I wish I might know you better, O
Loorian,” she paused and then, as she strode off, she turned
to exclaim, “Go on to the Surface, strange one, and if you
succeed in your quest, do not fear to pass through Yakra on
your return. All the city would worship you then, and do
you reverence.”
-
-
As if afraid to say more, she hurried down the
passage. Tumithak watched her for a moment and then, with a
shrug, turned and walked away in the opposite direction.
-
-
He had expected to reach the dark corridors soon after
leaving Yakra; but although his maps told him much
concerning the route he must take, they were silent
concerning the conditions of the various corridors; and it
soon became evident to Tumithak that he was not to reach the
dark corridors that day. Fatigue overcame him at last, and
entering one of the many deserted apartments that lined the
passage, he threw himself upon the floor and in a moment was
sound asleep.
-
-
CHAPTER IV - The Dark Corridors
-
-
Hours after, the Loorian awakened with a start. He
looked about him vaguely for a moment, and then started into
full wakefulness. In the corridor without, he had heard a
soft rustling. Scarcely breathing, he arose and, tiptoeing
to the doorway, peered cautiously out. The corridor was
empty, yet Tumithak was certain that he had heard soft
footsteps.
-
-
He stepped back into the room, picked up his pack,
which he had removed before falling asleep, and adjusted it
on his back. Then, once more carefully scanning the empty
corridor, he stepped out and prepared to resume his journey.
-
-
Before going on, though, he drew his sword and looked
thoroughly through all the neighboring apartments. It
puzzled him to find them all deserted. He was quite sure
that he had heard a noise, was quite sure, he felt, that
someone, from somewhere, was watching him. But at last, he
was forced to admit that, unless he was mistaken in their
existence, the watchers were more clever than he; and so,
keeping well to the center of the corridor, he :took up his
journey again.
-
-
For hours, he kept up a continuous, monotonous pace.
The route was steadily upward, the corridor was broad, and
to Tumithak’s surprise, the lights continued undimmed. He
had almost forgotten the cause of his sudden awakening,
when, after traveling some eight or nine miles, he was
suddenly aware of another soft, rustling sound, quite
similar to the former one. It came from one of the
apartments on his left, and he had scarcely heard it, when
he sprang like lightning to the door from which it came, his
sword flashing from its sheath. He dashed into the
apartment, through the front room and into the rear one, and
then stood foolishly, looking around him at the bare brown
walls. Like the apartment which he had examined in the
morning, this one was quite empty. There were no ladders up
which the mysterious one might have escaped; indeed, there
seemed to be no way in which anyone might have escaped
discovery and, at last, Tumithak was forced to continue on
his way.
-
-
But he moved more warily, now. He was as cautious as
he had been before entering Yakra; in fact, even more so,
for then he had known what to expect, and now he was facing
the unknown.
-
-
As the hours passed, Tumithak became increasingly
certain of the fact that he was being followed—was being
watched. Time after time, he would hear the slight rustling
noise, sometimes from the dark recesses of an apartment.
sometimes from down the path of some dimly lighted branching
corridor. Once he was certain that he heard the sound far
ahead of him, in the hall that he was traversing. But never
was he able to catch so much as a glimpse of the beings that
caused the sound.
-
-
At last he came to a section of the corridors where
the lights began to dim. At first only a few were affected,
their light coming from the plates with a peculiar bluish
glow, but before long the bluish tint was the rule rather
than the exception, and many of the lights were out
entirely. Tumithak traveled on in an increasing gloom, and
realized that he was, at last, really approaching the
legendary dark corridors.
-
-
Now, Tumithak was the product of a hundred generations
of men who had fled from the slightest suspicious sound. For
hundreds of years after the Invasion, an unusual sound had
meant a man-hunting shelk, and a shelk had meant death,
sudden, sure and unmistakable. So men had become a skulking,
fleeing race of creatures that fled panic-stricken from the
least suspicion of danger.
-
-
In deep-cut Loor, however, men had made a warren so
intricate and lengthy that years had passed since a shelk
had been seen. And so it came about that men grew more
courageous in Loor, until there arose, at last, a visionary
who dared to dream of slaying a shelk.
-
-
But although Tumithak was bolder by far than any other
man of his generation, it must not be supposed that he had
overcome, entirely, the heritage that was man’s. Even now as
he trudged so firmly up the apparently endless hallway, his
heart was beating wildly, and it would have taken little to
send him back on the way he had come, his heart almost
smothering him in his fright.
-
-
But apparently those who followed him knew well not to
agitate his fears too greatly. As the corridors grew darker,
the noises lessened and, at last, Tumithak decided that he
was quite alone. Whatever had been following him, he felt,
had turned back or continued down one of the branching
hails. For over an hour, he strained his ears in an attempt
to hear again the soft noises, but only silence was his
reward; so his vigilance gradually lessened and he trod more
and more carelessly up the hail.
-
-
He passed from a corridor of eternal gloom to one of
eternal darkness. Here the lights, if there had ever been
any, had long since ceased to glow, and for some time
Tumithak felt his way along the passage, depending only on
his sense of touch.
-
-
And in the corridor below, a number of dark, gaunt figures
moved from the gloom to the darkness and hurried silently
toward him.
-
-
As they went, they would have presented a strange
appearance, could anyone have seen them. Gaunt almost to the
point of emaciation, with strange, slate-colored skins,
perhaps the most surprising thing about their appearance was
their heads, which were wrapped with layer after layer of
strips of cloth which completely covered their eyes, making
it impossible for the slightest ray of light to reach them.
-
-
For these were the savages of the dark corridors— men
born and raised in the halls of eternal night—and so
sensitive were their eyes that the least light was an
intolerable pain. All day long they had been shadowing
Tumithak, and all day long their eyes had been veiled with
the bandages, leaving the savages to move by their
astounding senses of hearing and feeling alone. But now that
they were again in the halls that were their home, they
hastened to remove the cumbering cloths. And when this was
accomplished they gradually closed in upon their intended
victim.
-
-
The first intimation of their presence that Tumithak
had after entering the darkness was when he heard a sudden
rush behind him. He turned quickly, drew his sword and
lashed out savagely. his sword cut through the air, he heard
a sardonic laugh, and then silence. Furiously he lunged
again, and again his sword met only empty air, and then he
heard a new rustling in the hall behind him.
-
-
He turned, realizing that they had surrounded him.
Sword flashing furiously, he backed to the wall prepared to
sell his life as dearly as possible. He felt his blade
strike something that yielded, heard a cry of pain and then
suddenly quiet descended on the corridor. The Loorian was
not to be deceived, however, he kept up the vicious beating
about him with his sword, and presently had the satisfaction
of hearing another groan of pain as he struck one of the
savages who had attempted to creep under his guard.
-
-
But, though Tumithak continued to defend himself to
the best of his ability, and lashed about with the courage
born of desperation, he had little doubt as to the outcome
of the struggle. He was alone, with his back to the wall
while his enemies, already numbering he knew not how many,
were constantly having their numbers added to, by the
arrival of others. Tumithak prepared to die fighting, his
only regret was that he must die in this stygian darkness,
unable even to see the opponents who conquered him—and then
suddenly he remembered the torch, the first of his father’s
strange gifts.
-
-
With his left hand, he fumbled in his belt and drew
out the cylinder. At least, he would have the satisfaction
of knowing what sort of creatures these were that had
attacked him. In a moment he had found the switch and filled
the hail with light.
-
-
He was totally unprepared for the effect that the
brilliant beam of light had upon his enemies. Cries of pain
and dismay burst from them, and Tumithak’s first sight of
the savages was that of a dozen or more scrawny,
dark-colored figures that buried their heads in their arms
and turned to flee in terror down the passage.
Panic-stricken, bawling strange, harsh words to their
companions, they fled from the light, as if Tumithak had
suddenly been reinforced by all the men of Loor.
-
-
For a moment, Tumithak stood dazed. He was, of course,
unable to account for the sudden flight of his attackers.
The idea occurred to him that they fled from some danger
that he was unable to see and he flashed his light about the
corridor fearfully, but at last, as their cries diminished
in the distance, the truth gradually dawned on him. These
creatures were so much at home in the dark that it must
really be, thought Tumithak, that they feared the light; and
though he could not understand why this should be, he
determined to keep the torch burning as long as his route
remained in the dark.
-
-
So flashing its rays this way and that, up branching
corridors and into open doorways, the Loorian continued on
his way. He knew that any thought of sleeping in these dark
halls was out of the question, but this bothered him little.
Shut up in the pits and corridors for centuries, man had
forgotten the regular hours that he had once kept, and
although he usually slept eight or ten hours out of thirty,
it was entirely possible for a man to go forty or fifty
hours before he felt the necessity of sleep. Tumithak had
often worked steadily, under his father, for as many hours
as this, and so now he felt confident that he would be out
of the dark corridors long before he gave way to fatigue.
-
-
He munched, now and then, on the biscuits of
synthetic food that he had brought with him; but for the
most part, his entire time was spent in carefully scanning
the corridors before and behind him. And so the hours
passed. He had almost reached the point where his fears were
allayed sufficiently to allow him to enter one of the
apartments and seek slumber, when he heard, far behind him
in the corridor, a strange inhuman snarl. Fear seized him
instantly, he felt a sudden crawling sensation at the back
of his neck, and, darting instantly into the nearest
doorway, he extinguished his torch and lay trembling in an
excess of fear.
-
-
It must not be supposed that Tumithak had suddenly
become a coward. Remember the courage with which he had
faced the Yakran, and the dark savages. But it was the
inhumanity of the sound that terrified him. In the lower
passages, with the exception of rats, bats and a few other
small creatures, no animals had ever been known. Except the
shelks. They alone had followed man into his pits, and so it
was natural that to them alone could Tumithak attribute the
sound that had certainly come from, some large creature
other than man. He was yet to learn that there were other
animals from the Surface that had been driven into these
upper corridors.
-
-
So now he cowered in the apartment, vainly attempting
to lash his courage to the point where he could go out and
face his enemy. Suppose it were a shelk, he argued. Had he
not come all these dangerous miles for the sole purpose of
facing a shelk? Was he not Tumithak, the hero whom the
high one had called to deliver Man from the heritage of fear
that was his? And so, with arguments such as this, his
indomitable spirit lashed his body into a semblance of
courage, until at last he arose and again entered the
corridor.
-
-
As he might have known, it appeared empty. His
flashlight lit up the passage fully five hundred feet away,
but the corridor was apparently quite deserted. He continued
on his way; but as he went, he now paid more attention to
the lower corridor than he did to the corridor above. And
so, presently, he noticed, at the very limit of the light, a
number of strange, slinking figures that followed him at a
safe distance. His sharp eyes told him that these creatures
were neither shelks nor men; hut what they were, he was at a
loss to guess. It was many generations since the men of the
lower corridors had even heard of man’s one-time friend, the
dog.
-
-
He paused uncertainly and watched these strange
creatures. They slunk out of reach of the torch’s rays at
once, and after a moment Tumithak turned and continued his
journey, half convinced that, in spite of their size, they
were merely sonic large species of rat, as cowardly as their
smaller brethren.
-
-
In this he was soon to find himself mistaken. He had
continued for but a short distance, when he heard a snarl in
the corridor ahead of him; and as though this were a signal,
the beasts behind him began to draw steadily closer:
Tumithak increased his pace, broke into a trot, and finally
into a run; hut fast as he went, the beasts behind him were
faster, and gradually closed in on him.
-
-
It was when they were but a little less than a hundred
feet behind him that he noticed their masters. The savages
that lie had vanquished a few hours before had returned,
their faces buried in the swathings that they had worn when
they stalked him in the corridors beyond Yakra. And with
whispered urgings, they drove the dogs on until Tumithak
again found it necessary to draw forth his sword and prepare
to defend himself.
-
-
The beasts from the upper end of the corridor had
appeared by this time and the Loorian soon found himself
surrounded by a snarling, snapping pack of creatures,
against whose numbers if was utterly useless to attempt to
defend himself. He slew one, another fell snapping at a
great gash across its mangy back; but before he could do
more, his light was knocked out of his hand and he felt a
half dozen hairy forms leap upon him. He fell heavily to the
ground with the clogs on top of him, his sword flying from
his hand and disappearing in the darkness.
-
-
Tumithak expected to die then and there. He felt the
hot breath of the monsters on various parts of his body, and
that strange feeling of resignation came over him that
almost every one feels in the presence of almost certain
death, and then - the dogs were pulled away, and he felt
hands on him and heard soft, muttering words as the savages
felt over his body. He was pinioned to the ground by a half
dozen wiry hands, and a moment later a band was tightened
around him, fastening his arms firmly to his sides. He was
picked up and carried away.
-
-
They carried him on up the corridor for some distance,
turned after a while into one of the branching halls and
continued for a long time before they at last halted and
threw him upon the ground. Around him he heard many soft
sounds, whispered conversation and the rustling of moving
bodies, and he decided that he had been taken to the central
halls of these creatures. After lying for sonic time, he was
rolled over and a pair of thin hands felt him all over, and
then a voice spoke firmly and with authority. Again he was
picked up, and carried for a short distance and then he was
unceremoniously dumped clown upon the floor of what he
suspected was the floor of an apartment. Something metallic
clanged on the floor beside him and he heard the departing
footsteps of his captors in the corridor without.
-
-
For a while Tumithak lay still, gathering his
thoughts. He wondered vaguely why he had not been killed,
little dreaming that the savages knew well enough not to
kill their meat until they were ready for the feast. For
these savages had no knowledge of the preparation of the
machine-made food, and lived by preying on Yakra and other
smaller towns that existed far down the branching corridors.
Reduced to such desperate straits, anything that would
provide sustenance became their food and for many
generations they had been cannibals.
-
-
After a while, Tumithak arose. He had little trouble
in working loose the bonds of cloth that he was tied with;
the knowledge of knots that the savages possessed was
elementary, and so it took less than an hour for the Loorian
to free himself. He began feeling carefully over the walls
of the apartment, in an attempt to acquaint himself with the
features of his prison.
-
-
The room was little more than ten feet square, and the
walls were broken by but a single door, the entrance.
Tumithak attempted to pass through this door, but was halted
immediately by a growl and a snarl, and a rough, hairy body
pushed against his legs, driving him back into the
apartment. The savages had left the dogs to guard the
entrance to his prison.
-
-
Tumithak stepped hack into the room and as he did so,
his foot struck an object that rolled across the floor. He
remembered the metallic object that had been thrown into the
apartment with him and wondered curiously what it was.
Groping around, he finally located it, and to his joy
realized that it was his flashlight. He was quite unable to
understand why the savages had brought it here, but he
decided that to their superstitious minds, it was something
to fear, and that they thought it best to keep these two
dangerous enemies imprisoned together. At any rate, here it
was, and for that Tumithak was grateful.
-
-
He turned it on, and looked around as its rays filled
the apartment with light. Yes, he had been right about its
size and simplicity. There was little chance, none at all,
in fact, of his escaping unless he passed through the
beast-guarded doorway. And in the light, Tumithak saw that
the savages had left him but little chance to escape that
way. The entire pack of over twenty dogs stood just without
the doorway, their eyes dazzled and blinking in the sudden
light.
-
-
From within the doorway, Tumithak could look far up
the corridor, and he could see no one at all in all that
stretch of hallway, as far as his light reached. He flashed
it down the hallway; it, too, was empty. He decided that it
was probably the time of sleep for these savages, and
realized that if he was to escape, no better time would
offer itself than the present. He sat down on the floor of
the apartment and gave himself up to thought. Somewhere in
the back of his mind an idea was glimmering, a faint
conviction that he possessed the means to escape from these
animals. He arose and looked at the pack, huddled together
in the corridor as if to protect themselves from the
unwelcome rays of the torch. He turned to study the room,
but apparently found little there to favor his half-formed
plan. Suddenly, though, he reached a decision, and feeling
in the pocket of his belt, he removed a round, pointed
object, and pulling a pin from it, hurled it out among the
pack and threw himself flat on his face!
-
-
It was the bomb, the second of his father’s strange
gifts. It struck the floor of the corridor without, and
burst with a roar that was nothing short of deafening. In
the confined space of the passage, the expanding gases acted
with terrific force. Flat on the floor though he was,
Tumithak was lifted and hurled violently against the
opposite wall of the apartment. As for the beasts, in the
corridor without, they were practically annihilated. Torn
bodies were flung in every direction, and when Tumithak,
bruised and shaken, entered the corridor a few minutes
later, he found it deserted of every living thing. But the
scene resembled a shambles, with blood and torn bodies
strewn all over the corridor.
-
-
Sick with the unaccustomed sight of blood and death,
Tumithak hastened to put as much distance as possible
between himself and the gruesome scene. He hurried on up the
corridor, through the still smoke-laden air, until at last
the air cleared and the horrors of the scene could be
forgotten. He saw no signs of the savages, although twice he
heard a whimpering from the doorway of some apartment and
knew that a dark form probably cowered, terror-stricken, in
the darkness. It would be many, many sleeps before the
savages of the dark corridors forgot the enemy who had
caused such destruction among them.
-
-
Tumithak emerged again into the corridor that led to
the Surface. For the first time since he set out on that
route, he retraced his steps, but it was with a definite
object in view. Re arrived at the place where he had battled
with the dogs, and retrieved his sword, finding it without
difficulty and noting with satisfaction that it was entirely
unharmed. Then he once again took up his journey to the
Surface, continuing for long without meeting with anything
that could give him cause f or alarm. At last he decided
that he was past the dangerous parts of these halls, and
entering one of the apartments he prepared himself for a
long-needed rest.
-
-
He slept long and dreamlessly, awaking at last after
more than fourteen hours of sleep. He immediately took up
his journey again, partaking of his food as he went and
wondering what this new march would mean for him.
-
-
But he was not to wonder for long. He was quite aware,
from his maps, that he was now more than half through with
his journey, and so he was not surprised when the walls of
the corridors, which, ever since leaving Loor had continued
as smooth and glossy as those of his own home, now began to
assume a rough, irregular appearance, almost like that of a
natural cavern. He was, he knew, approaching that section of
the corridors which man had carved out in the days of his
first panic-stricken flight into the earth. There had been
little time, in those first days, to smooth down the walls
of the corridors or to give them the regular rectangular
appearance that they were to have in the lower corridors.
-
-
But though he was not surprised at this appearance of
the passages, he was totally unprepared for their next
change. He had traveled perhaps three or four miles through
the winding, narrow caverns, when he came upon a
well-concealed pit-mouth that led far up into the darkness.
He could see that there was a light at the top, and gave a
sigh of gratitude, for his light had begun to show the first
signs of failing. He climbed the ladder slowly, with his
usual caution, and at last, emerging warily from the mouth
of the shaft, he stepped into the strangest corridor that he
had ever beheld.
-
-
CHAPTER V - The Hall of the Esthetts
-
-
The hail in which Tumithak found himself was more
brilliantly lighted than any he had ever seen. The lights
were not all of the usual clear white, here and there blues
and greens vied with reds and golden yellows to add beauty
to a scene that was already beautiful beyond anything that
Tumithak had ever imagined. For a moment, he was at a loss
to understand just where the luminescence was coming from,
for there were no shining plates in the center of the
ceiling, such as he had always been familiar with. But after
a while, an explanation of the system of lighting dawned on
him, and he saw that all the plates were cleverly concealed
in the walls, so that the light reflected from them produced
an effect of soft, creamy mellowness.
-
-
And the walls—the walls were no longer of the familiar
glossy brown stone; they were of stone of the purest milky
white! And though this in itself was a wonder that must have
excited the Loorian’s astonishment, it was not the color of
the walls that held Ids attention riveted to them. It was
the fact that the walls were covered with designs and
pictures, intaglios and bas-reliefs, to such an extent that
not a clear space was visible on walls or ceiling, at any
place along the corridor. And even the floor bore an
intricate design of varicolored inlaid stone.
-
-
Now, Tumithak had never dreamed of the possibility of
such a thing as this. There was no art in the lower
corridors, there never had been. That had been lost to man
long before the first passage had been blasted down to Loor.
And so Tumithak stood lost in wonder at the marvel that
confronted him.
-
-
Although most of the wall was covered with design, there
were many pictures, too. They showed in detail many
wonderful things, things that Tumithak could scarcely
believe existed. Yet here they were before him, and to his
simple mind the fact that they were here in pictures were
proof that somewhere they existed in reality.
-
-
Here, for instance, was a group of men and women
dancing. They were in a circle, and they danced around
something in the center; something that could only partly be
seen. But as he looked at it, Tumithak again felt the hair
on the back on his neck begin to rise—the creature had long
and spidery legs, and from somewhere in his subconscious
mind a voice whispered, “Shelk.”
-
-
Turning with a puzzled feeling of disgust from that
picture, he came upon another one—it depicted a long
corridor, and in it a cylindrical object that must have been
eighteen or twenty feet long. It was mounted on wheels and
around it were gathered a group of eager, waiting humans,
with happy, excited looks on their faces. Tumithak puzzled
over the pictures for many moments, unable to understand
them. They didn’t make sense. These people did not seem to
fear the shelks! He came upon a picture that proved it. It
showed again the long cylindrical object, and at its side
were three beings that could be nothing but shelks. And
grouped around them, talking and gesticulating, were another
group of humans.
-
-
There was one thing that particularly impressed
Tumithak in these pictures. The people were all fat. Not a
one of them but was florid and grossly overweight. But it
was probably natural, thought the Loorian, of people who
lived near the Surface and were apparently without any fear
of the terrible shelk. Such a people would naturally have
little to do but live and grow fat.
-
-
And so, musing and looking at the pictures, he
continued along on his way, until he saw in the distance,
up the corridor a ponderous human form and realized that he
was reaching the inhabited part of these corridors. The form
disappeared down a branching corridor, almost as soon as he
glimpsed it, but it was enough to make Tumithak realize that
he must go much more carefully. So, for a long while, he
slipped cautiously along the side of the passage, using
every opportunity that was offered for concealment, He found
a thousand things to excite his wonder; indeed, ere long he
found himself in a constant state of astonishment. Great
tapestries were hung along the wall at one spot; at another,
his heart leapt into his mouth as he came suddenly upon a
group of statues. It was hard for him to realize that these
carven stones were not really men.
-
-
There had been no doorways on the sides of the
corridors at first; but now the corridor widened until it
must have been full forty feet broad, and apartment
entrances began to appear. High and wide, these doorways
were, and the “curtains” that covered them were of metal! It
was Tumithak’s first contact with true doors, for in Loor
the cloth curtains were all that ever separated the
apartments from the corridor without.
-
-
Minute after minute passed, as Tumithak continued on
his way. The pictures on the walls grew more elaborate, the
corridor grew higher and even wider; and then, in the
distance, Tumithak saw a number of human forms approaching
him. He knew that he must not be seen, debated for a moment
the advisability of turning about and retreating, and then
he noticed an open door close to him. Before him was
discovery and danger, behind him lay an unthinkable retreat.
Tumithak had little choice in the matter; in a moment he had
made his decision, had pushed the door wide open and stepped
inside.
-
-
For a moment he stood, his eyes, used to the brilliant
light without, failing him in the gloom of the apartment.
Then he realized that he was not alone, for the room was
occupied by a man who, to all appearances, was so frightened
at Tumithak’s sudden appearance as to be quite speechless.
Tumithak took advantage of the other’s evident fright to
ob5erve him carefully and to look about the room for some
means of escape or concealment.
-
-
The room was lighted much more dimly than the hall,
the light coming from two plates concealed in the wall near
the ceiling. The walls were of a uniform dull blue and in
the rear a tapestried door led to the back room. A table, a
huge, padded chair, a bed, and a shelf that was filled with
books, made up the furniture of the room. And in the midst
of the bed lay this huge man.
-
-
The man was a veritable mountain of flesh. Tumithak
estimated that he certainly must have weighed four hundred
pounds. He was well over six feet tall, and the bed on which
he lay, and which would easily have held three of Tumithak’s
fellow citizens, was completely filled with his bulk. He was
a florid, full-blooded type of man; and his pale blond hair
and beard only served to accentuate the redness of his face
and neck.
-
-
But the coarseness of the man’s features was offset by
the refinement of his surroundings. Never had such luxuries
been dreamed of by the man of Loor. The clothes that the man
wore were of the finest texture imaginable, sheer gauzes
that were dyed in the most delicate shades of nacreous
pinks, and greens, and blues. They flowed down over his
form, softening and dignifying the immense obesity of him.
The bed-clothes were as fine and sheer as the man’s
garments, but of a deep shade of greens and browns. The bed
itself was a revelation, a glorious triumph in inlaid metals
that might have been wrought by some wonderful artisan of
the Golden Age. And flung across the floor was a rug— And
the pictures on the wall—
-
-
The man suddenly regained control of himself. He set
up a scream, a high-pitched womanly scream that seemed
strangely absurd coming from one of his bulk. Tumithak was
at his side in an instant, with his sword at the fat one’s
throat.
-
-
“Stop that!” he ordered peremptorily. “Stop it at
once, or I’ll kill you!”
-
-
The other subsided, his screams at once becoming a
series of involuntary agonized groans. Tumithak stood
listening, fearful that the first scream might have been
effective, but the silence from without was unbroken. After
fully a minute, the man spoke.
-
-
“You are a wild man,” he said, and his voice was full
of terror. “You are a wild man of the lower corridors! What
arc you doing here among the Chosen Ones?”
-
-
Tumithak ignored the question.
-
-
“Make another sound, fat one,” he whispered, fiercely,
“and there will he one less mouth to feed in these halls.”
He looked toward the door anxiously. “Is any one likely to
enter here?” he asked.
-
-
The other attempted to answer, but apparently his fear
had by now rendered him speechless.
-
-
Tumithak laughed scornfully, a strange elation
possessing him. It was indeed pleasant to the Loorian to
find some one that feared him so terribly. Man had not felt
this strange sense of power often in the preceding centuries
and Tumithak was half tempted to increase the other’s fears,
but in the end this emotion was overcome by his curiosity.
Seeing that the fat man’s terror of the sword was a very
real one, he lowered it and returned it to its sheath.
-
-
The fat man breathed easier then, but it was some
moments before speech returned. Then when he did speak, it
was only to repeat the question he had asked before.
-
-
“What are you doing here in the halls of the
Esthetts?" he gulped fearfully.
-
-
Tumithak considered his answer carefully. These
people, he knew, did not fear the shelk; clearly, then, they
were friendly with them. The Loorian doubted the
advisability of confiding in the obese craven, but at the
same time it seemed absurd to fear him or any others like
him. And the natural conceit that is a part of every great
genius made Tumithak long to boast of his mission so that at
last he decided to answer the question.
-
-
“I am on my way to the Surface,” he said. “I come from
the lowest pit of all, so far down that we have never even
heard of the halls of the Esthetts, as you call them. Are
you one of the Esthetts?“
-
-
“On your way to the Surface!” said the other, who was
now fast losing his fear. “But you have not been called! You
will be killed at once. Think you that the Holy Shelks will
permit any one to attain the Surface uncalled for?” His
nose twitched scornfully. “And a wild man of the lower
corridors at that!“
-
-
Tumithak was stung by the scorn in the other’s voice.
-
-
“Listen, fat one,” he said, “I do not ask the
permission of any one to visit the Surface. As for the
shelks, my whole object in reaching the Surface is that I
might kill one of them.”
-
-
The other looked at him with a look that Tumithak Was
at a loss to interpret.
-
-
“You will soon die,” said the Esthett, calmly. “There
is no need of my fearing you any longer. Surely any one who
speaks such unthinkable blasphemy is doomed even as he says
it.” He settled himself more comfortably in his bed as he
spoke, and looked at Tumithak curiously.
-
-
“From where, Oh, Wild One, did such an impossible idea
come to you?“ he asked.
-
-
The Loorian might have had a feeling of anger at the
other’s attitude, had not this question shown him a loophole
for expounding his favorite subject. He began to tell the
Esthett, in elaborate detail, all the story of his mission.
The latter listened attentively, so interested, apparently,
that Tumithak grew more and more interested in the telling.
-
-
He spoke of his early life, of the finding of the
hook, and the inspiration it had given him; he told of the
many years of preparation for his journey, and of the many
adventures he had had since he left Loor.
-
-
The fat one was strangely interested, hut to Tumithak,
wrapped up in the story of his mission, it never once
occurred that the Esthett was sparring for time. And so,
when he was finished with his story at last, he was quite
willing to listen to the Chosen One’s story of his own life
in the marble halls.
-
-
“We who live in these halls,” began the Esthett, “are
those chosen ones of the race of mankind who possess the one
thing that the Holy Shelks lack the power of creating
beauty. Mighty as the Masters are, they have no artistic
ability, but in spite of this they are quite capable of
appreciating our art, and so they have come to rely upon us
for the beauties of life, and they have given it to us to
produce all the great works of art that decorate their
wonderful palaces on the Surface! All the great art
works that you see on the walls of these corridors have been
executed by me and my fellow-citizens. All the rich
paintings and statuary that you will see later, in our great
square, all these are the rejected specimens that the Holy
Shelks have no need of. Can you imagine the beauties of the
accepted pieces that have found their way to the Surface?
-
-
“And in return for our beauty, the shelks feed us and
give us every luxury imaginable. Of all mankind, we alone
have been chosen as worthy of being the friends and
companions of the world’s masters.”
-
-
He paused for a moment, breathless with what was
apparently an exceptionally long speech, for him. After
resting a while, he went on:
-
-
“Here in these marble corridors, we of the Esthetts
are born and educated. We work only at our art; we work only
when it suits us, and our work is carried from here to the
Surface above. There it is carefully explained by the
shelks, and the choicest is preserved. The artists who
produce this work
—
listen carefully, wild man
—
the artists who produce this work are called from their home
to join the great guild of Chosen Ones who live on the
Surface and spend the rest of their lives decorating the
glorious palaces and gardens of the Holy Shelks! They are
the happiest of men, for they know that their work is
praised by the very Lords of Creation themselves.”
-
-
He was panting with the effort caused by his story,
but he struggled bravely on:
-
-
“Can you wonder that we feel ourselves superior to the
men who have allowed themselves to become little better than
animals, little more than rabbits skulking in their
warrens, miles below the ground? Can you wonder that—”
-
-
His speech was suddenly cut off by a sound from the
corridor without. It was the sound of a siren, whose tones
grew shriller and shriller, higher and higher until it
seemed to pass entirely beyond the range of sound heard by
human ears. The Esthett was suddenly beside himself with
eagerness. He began to struggle out of his bed, managed
after several failures to get to his feet, waddled to the
door and then turned.
-
-
“The Masters!” he cried. “The Holy Shelks! They have
come to take another group of artists to the Surface. I knew
they would be here soon, wild man, and it was not for
nothing that I listened to your long, tiresome story. Try to
escape if you can, hut you know as well as I that none can
escape from the Masters. And now I go to tell them of your
presence!“
-
-
He slammed the door suddenly in Tumithak’s face and
was gone.
-
-
For several minutes, Tumithak remained motionless in
the apartment. That shelks were so near to him seemed
incredible. Yet he expected every minute to see the door
open and to have the horrible spider-like creatures rush in
and slay him. At last, it seemed, he was in a trap from
which there was no escape. He shivered with fear, and then,
as always, the very intensity of his fear shamed him and
caused him to take a new grip upon himself; and though he
trembled violently at what he was about to do, he moved to
the door and examined it carefully. He had decided that the
chances of escape would be greater in the corridor than if
he waited here for the shelks to capture him. It was several
minutes before he discovered the secret of the latch, but
then he swung the door open and stepped into the corridor.
-
-
The corridor in Tumithak’s vicinity was fortunately
empty, but far up the hallway, the obese Esthett could still
be seen, bustling ponderously on his way. He had been joined
by others, many as fat as he; and all were hastening, as
fast as their weight would let them, up the corridor, in the
direction in which the square of the city evidently lay.
Tumithak followed them at a discreet distance, and after a
while, saw them turn into another corridor. He approached
the corridor cautiously, the determination forming in his
mind to slay the fat one that intended to betray him, at the
first opportunity. It was well that he used care in his
approach, for when he peered around the corner he saw that
he was not a hundred feet from the town’s great square.
-
-
He had never seen such a great square. It was a huge
hail over a hundred yards in diameter, its tessellated
marble floor and carved walls presenting an appearance that
made Tumithak gasp in wonder. Here and there statutes stood
on van-colored pedestals, and all the doorways were hung
with beautiful tapestries. The entire square was almost
filled with Esthetts, over five hundred being present.
-
-
Not the halt, its furnishings nor its inhabitants had
much effect on Tumithak. His eyes were occupied in observing
the great cylinder of metal that lay in the center of the
hail. It was just such a cylinder as the one he had seen on
the carving when he first entered the city—eighteen or
twenty feet long, mounted on four thickly tired wheels and
having, he now perceived, a round opening in the top.
-
-
While he looked, a number of objects shot out of the
opening and dropped lightly before the crowd. One after
another, just as jacks from a box, they leapt from the
opening, and as they nimbly struck the ground the Esthetts
raised a cheer. Tumithak drew hastily back, and then, his
curiosity overcoming his caution, dared to peep again into
the hail. For the first time in over a hundred years, a man
of Loor gazed upon a shelk!
-
-
Standing about four feet high, they were indeed
spider-like, just as tradition said. But a close look showed
that this was only a superficial resemblance. For these
creatures were hairless, and possessed ten legs, rather than
the eight that belong to a true spider. The legs were long
and triple-jointed and on the tip of each was a short
rudimentary claw much like a finger nail. There were two
bunches of these legs, five on each side, and they joined
the creature at a point midway between the head and the
body. The body was shaped much like the abdomen of a wasp,
and was about the same size as the head, which was certainly
the strangest part of the entire creature.
-
-
For the head was the head of a man: The same eyes, the
same broad brow, a mouth with tight, thin lips, and a
chin—all these gave the head of the creature a startling
resemblance to that of a man. The nose and hair alone were
missing, to make the face perfectly human.
-
-
As Tumithak looked, they entered at once upon the
business that had brought them down into the corridor. One
of them took a paper from a pouch strapped to his body,
grasping it nimbly between two of his limbs, and began to
speak. His voice had a queer, metallic clack about it, but
it was not a bit hard for Tumithak to distinguish every
word he said.
-
-
“Brothers of the Pits,” he cried, “the time has come
for another group of you to make your homes on the Surface!
The friends who left you last week are eagerly awaiting your
arrival there, and it only remains for us to call the names
of the ones to whom the great honor has fallen. Listen
carefully, and let each one enter the cylinder as his name
is called.”
-
-
He paused, allowing his words to sink in, and then in
a silence that was impressive, he began to call the names.
-
-
“Korystalis! Vintiania! Lathrumidor!” he called, and
one after another, great, bull-bodied men strutted forward
and climbed up a small ladder that was lowered from the
cylinder. The third man called, Tumithak noticed, was the
one who had conversed with him in the apartment. The look on
his face, as well as on the faces of the others, was one of
surprise and joy, as if some incredible piece of good luck
had befallen him.
-
-
Now Tumithak had been so absorbed in observing the
shelks and their vehicle that he had forgotten momentarily
the threat that the Esthett had made, but when he saw him
approaching the shelks, the Loorian’s terror returned. He
stood, rooted in his tracks with fear. But his fear was
unnecessary, for apparently this unexpected piece of good
fortune had driven everything else from the simple mind of
the Chosen One, for he climbed into the cylinder without so
much as a word to the shelks standing about. And Tumithak
gave a great sigh of relief as he disappeared into the hole.
-
-
There were six shelks, and six Esthett’s names were
called; and as fast as they were called, their owners
stepped forward and clambered, puffing and grunting, into
the car. At last, the sixth had struggled down into the
round opening and the shelks turned and followed. A lid
covered the hole from below, and silence reigned in the
hall. After a moment, the Esthetts began to drift away, and
as several moved toward the corridor in which Tumithak was
concealed, he was forced to dart back through the passage
some distance and slip into an apartment to avoid discovery.
-
-
He half expected some Esthett to enter the apartment
and discover him, but this time luck was with him and after
a few moments, he peered cautiously through the door to find
the corridor empty. He emerged and quickly made his way to
the main hail. It was deserted of Esthetts, now, but for
some reason the cylinder still remained in the same spot;
and Tumithak was suddenly seized with an idea that made him
tremble with its magnitude.
-
-
These shelks had obviously come from the Surface in
this car! And now they were going back to the Surface in
it. Had not the Esthett, whom the shelks named Lathrumidor,
told him that occasionally artists were called to live upon
the Surface among the shelks? Yes, this car was certainly
going to return to the Surface. And, with a sudden rush of
inspired determination, Tumithak knew that he was going with
it.
-
-
He hastened forward and in a moment was clinging to the rear
of the machine, clambering for a foothold on the few
projections that he could find. He was not a moment too
soon, for hardly had he gotten a firm grip on the machine
than it leaped silently forward and sped at a vertiginous
speed up the corridor!
-
-
CHAPTER VI - The Slaying of the Shelk
-
-
Tumithak’s memory of that ride was a wild
kaleidoscopic jumble of incidents. So fast did the car
speed, that it was only occasionally, as they slowed to turn
a corner or passed through an exceptionally narrow hail,
that he could lift his eyes and look about him.
-
-
They passed through halls more brilliantly lighted
than any he had yet seen. He saw halls of metal, polished
and gleaming, and corridors of unpolished rock where strange
things fled wildly out of their path, howling mournfully.
There were passages where the car rolled smoothly and
swiftly over a polished glistening floor, and corridors
where the vibration of passing over rough rock threatened to
hurl him at any moment from his precarious position.
-
-
Once they passed slowly through a marble passageway
where Esthetts were lined on either side, chanting a solemn
and sonorous hymn as the car of the shelks passed through.
Tumithak was certain that he would be discovered, but if any
of the singers saw him they paid little heed, evidently
believing him to be a captive of the shelks. There were no
longer any pits or branching hallways now, the entire road
to the surface was one broad main corridor, and along this
corridor the car sped, carrying Tumithak ever nearer to his
goal.
-
-
Although the car’s speed was not great as measured by
the speed of the cars we use today, it must be reembered
that the fastest speed the Loorian had ever conceived was a
fast run. So it seemed to him now that he rode upon the very
wings of the wind, and his thankfulness knew no bounds when
the car at last slowed to a speed that enabled him to drop
to the ground in a section of the corridor that had
apparently been uninhabited for many years. All thought of
continuing the ride was abandoned, now, his only desire was
to end the devil’s ride that he had so foolhardily
undertaken.
-
-
For a moment, Tumithak was inclined to lie where he
had fallen, at least long enough to regain control of his
dazed faculties, but the sudden realization that the car of
the shelks had stopped, not a hundred yards away, brought
him instantly to his feet, and he flung himself hurriedly
through the nearest open door. The apartment in which he
found himself was dust laden and bare of furniture; it was
obvious that it had been long unused, and so, convinced that
no danger awaited him there, Tumithak returned to the door
and looked out at the car.
-
-
He saw at once that the queer door or hatchway in the
top of the car was open, but it was several moments before
the occupants began to emerge. Then the fat head of one of
the Esthetts appeared and its owner laboriously dragged
himself up and over the side of the car. He was followed by
a shelk, who leaped nimbly to the ground, after which the
car slowly emptied until all twelve of its occupants were in
the corridor. They all turned, then, and entered an
apartment, the only one visible that bore a curtain over the
door.
-
-
For a while, Tumithak remained in his hiding place
debating his next move. I-us instinctive timidity urged him
to remain in hiding, to wait—for days, if necessary—until
the shelks had re-entered the car and departed. His
curiosity demanded that he attempt to discover what the
strangely allied party was doing beyond that great
tapestry-covered door. And his wisdom told him that if he
intended to continue on his quest, the best course was to
keep on at once up the corridor, while the shelks were still
within the apartment—for he knew that he was but a few short
miles from the surface, toward which he had been traveling
for so long.
-
-
His better judgment conquered at last and he chose the
latter course, determined to forget the party, and so
emerged from the room and began to run lightly and silently
on his way; but as he passed the great doorway and saw how
voluminous were the folds of the draperies and how easily
one might conceal himself in them, he determined to have one
last look at the shelks and their strange friends before
continuing. So, suiting the action to the thought, he
stepped to the opening and, drawing the curtains around
him, parted them slightly and looked into the room.
-
-
The first thing to strike his attention was the
immense size of the room. It must have been eighty feet long
and half as many wide, truly an enormous room to the
Loorian; and its ceiling was lost in gloom. So high was it
that the lights, which were arranged around the room at the
level of the shoulder, were not bright enough to show any of
its detail. Tumithak had a queer idea that there was no
ceiling, that perhaps the walls rose higher and higher until
at last they reached the Surface. He had little time to
speculate on this possibility, however, for he had hardly
noticed it when his eyes fell upon the table. A great low
table, it was, a long table covered with a cloth of snowy
whiteness and piled high with strange articles that Tumithak
saw were intended to be foods. But the Loorian looked at
them in wonder, for they were foods such as he had never
before heard of, such as his ancestors had not known for
many a generation, the thousand and one succulent viands of
the Surface. And around the table were a dozen low divans,
and on some of these divans the Esthetts were even now
reclining, greedily partaking of the varied foods.
-
-
The shelks, strangely enough, were not joining them in
the feast. Behind each of the ponderous artists, a shelk had
taken his place, and to Tumithak’s notion, there was
something ominous in the way they stood, silently watching
every move the Esthetts made. But the self-styled Chosen
Ones were quite at ease, gobbling their food and grunting
appreciative interjections to each other, until Tumithak
turned from looking at them in disgust.
-
-
And then, suddenly, there came a sharp command from
the shelk at the head of the table. The Esthetts looked up
in consternation, dismay and a pitiable incredulity in their
faces. Ere they could move, however, ere they could even
cry out, on each a shelk had leaped, his thin-lipped mouth
seeking, finding unerringly, the jugular vein beneath the
folds of flesh in the fat one’s heavy throat.
-
-
Vainly the artists struggled, their slow, helpless
movements were unavailing, the nimble shelks easily
avoiding their groping arms while all the time their teeth
sank deeper into the flesh. Tumithak gasped in horror. As
one in a trance, he watched the movements of the Esthetts
become feebler and feebler until at last all motion ceased.
The Loorian’s brain was in a daze. What— what on Venus could
be the meaning of this? What connection could this
grisly scene have with the lengthy explanation of the lives
of these people that Lathrumidor had given him in the
marble halls below? He gazed at the scene in horror,
unable to move his eyes.
-
-
The Esthetts were quiet now, and the shelks had raised
themselves from them and were busy with some new occupation.
From beneath the table they had drawn several huge,
transparent jars and half a dozen small machines with long
hoses attached. These hoses were fastened to the wounds in
the necks of the Eshetts and as Tumithak looked on, he saw
the blood swiftly pumped from the bodies and ejected into
the jars.
-
-
As the jars filled with the liquid, the bodies of the
Esthetts collapsed like punctured balloons, and in a few
moments they lay, pallid and wrinkled, on the floor about
the table. The shelks showed no excitement in their work;
apparently it was merely a routine duty with them, and their
calm business-like methods served only to add to Tumithak’s
terror; but at last he overcame the paralytic fear that
held him, and he turned and sped frantically away. Up the
corridor he ran, faster and faster, farther and farther, and
at last, spent and breathless, unable to run another step,
he darted into an open door, and flung himself gasping and
panting upon the floor of the apartment it led into.
-
-
Slowly he regained control of himself, his breath
returned, and with it some small measure of confidence. He
berated himself harshly for his cowardice in so losing
control of himself, yet, even as he did so, he trembled at
the thought of the terrible sight that he had witnessed. As
he grew calmer, he began to wonder at the meaning of the
events that he had seen. Lathrumidor, the Esthett, had led
him to believe that the shelks were the kindly masters of
the immense artists. He had spoken of the journey to the
Surface as being the culminating honor of an Esthett’s life.
The shelk who had spoken in the great hail, too, had
intimated as much. Yet for some strange reason, at the first
opportunity after leaving the city, the shelks had slain
their worshiping servants, and slain them in a way that
seemed quite usual and commonplace to them. Strive as he
might, Tumithak could not account for this apparent
anomaly. And so, cowering in the rear room of the apartment,
puzzling over the unnaturalness of the day’s adventures, the
Loorian fell into a troubled sleep.
-
-
It is not to be wondered that Tumithak was puzzled at
the strange events of the day. He knew of no relationship
between animals, such as existed between the Esthetts and
the shelks. There were no domestic animals in the pits and
man had not known of them for centuries. Other centuries
were to go by before they were to know of them again, so
there was nothing in Tumithak’s life analogous to the status
in which the shelks held the Esthetts.
-
-
Today we know that they were—cattle! Lulled into
a sense of false security by hypocritical lies, bred for
centuries for the full-blooded, bovine stupidity that was
characteristic of them, allowed no means of intellectual
expression except the artistic impulse which the shelks
scorned, they had become, after many generations, the
willing creatures of the Beasts of Venus.
-
-
And by a strange combination of the lies of the shelks
and their own immense conceit, they had come to look
forward, from earliest childhood, to that happy day when
they would be taken to the Surface—to become, unknowing, the
food of their masters. Such were the Esthetts, strangest,
perhaps, of all the various races of men evolved by the
breeding of the shelks.
-
-
All this, however, was far beyond the comprehension of
Tumithak - or of any man of his generation. And so it was
that even after he awoke and resumed his journey, he was
still unable to account for the strange relationship. But
the puzzles which a semi-savage mind cannot solve, it soon
forgets, and so it was that before long Tumithak was
strolling along on his way, his mind entirely at ease.
-
-
Since passing the hall of the singing Esthetts, during
his wild ride, Tumithak had seen no signs of habitation.
Apparently the corridors were entirely too near the surface
to be inhabited by man. So Tumithak saw no one in the
corridors and traveled for several miles undisturbed. At
last he came to an abrupt end of the passage, and here found
a ladder of metal set into the wall that rose higher and
higher in the gloom. Filled with a. suppressed excitement,
his heart beating noticeably again, Tumithak began the
ascent of what he knew to be the last pit before he reached
the surface. He emerged from it in a hall of strange black
stone, and removing from his pouch the last of his father’s
gifts, he started along the upward slope, the weapon held
gingerly in his hand. The corridor was narrower than any
Tumithak had ever seen, and as he walked along the walls
drew still closer together, until it was not more than two
feet wide. The grade became steeper and steeper and at last
became a flight of stairs. Up these Tumithak strode, every
moment his heart heating wilder, and at last he saw what he
knew to be his goal. Far ahead, a light shone down in the
corridor from above, a light far brighter and harsher than
any of the lights of the corridors, and of a strange reddish
tint. Tumithak knew, as he looked on it in awe, that the
light was the light of the Surface.
-
-
He hurried forward; the ceiling became lower and lower
and for the last few yards he was forced to stoop, and
then—He reached the top of the steps and found himself
standing in a shallow pit, not more than five feet deep. He
raised his head, and a low gasp of absolute unbelief escaped
from him.
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For Tumithak had looked upon the Surface...
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The vastness of the scene was enough to unnerve the
Loorian. It seemed that he had emerged into a mighty room or
hail, so tremendous that he could not even comprehend its
immensity. The ceiling and walls of this room merged into
each other to form a stupendous vault like an inverted bowl,
which touched the floor of the vault at a distance so far
away that it seemed utterly incredible. And this ceiling and
these wails in places were of a beautiful blue, the color of
a woman’s eyes. This blue glowed like a jewel, and was
mottled with great billowy areas of white and rose, and as
Tumithak looked he had a vague feeling that those enormous
billowy spots were slowly moving and changing in shape.
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Unable to take his eyes from the sky above him,
Tumithak’s wonder and awe began to turn into a great fear.
The more he looked, the further away the great dome seemed
to be, and yet, curiously and terribly, it seemed to be
closing in on him, too. He was sure, after a moment, that
the great billowy spots were moving, and he had a dreadful
feeling that they were about to fall and crush him. Sick and
terrified at the enormity of the scene before him, he darted
back into the passageway and cowered against the wall,
trembling with a strange, unreasoning fear. For, raised as
he had been in the close confines of the corridor walls,
living his whole life under the ground, Tumithak, when he
first looked upon the Surface, became a victim of
agoraphobia, that strange fear of open spaces, that in
sonic people, even today, amounts to a disease.
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It was nearly an hour before his reason was able to
gain control over this strange fear. Had he come thus far,
he argued with himself, only to return because of the
appearance of the Surface? Surely, if that mighty blue and
cloudy vault was to fall, it would not have waited all these
years just to fall on him. He took a deep breath, and reason
prevailing at last, he again looked out upon the Surface.
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But this time his eyes avoided the sky, and he
directed his attention to the floor of the “room.” in the
vicinity of the pit this floor consisted of a thick brown
dust, but not far away this dust was covered with a strange
carpet consisting of thousands of long green hairs thickly
matted together, completely hiding the dusty floor beneath.
In the middle distance were a number of tall, irregular
pillars whose tops were covered with a great huge bunch of
stuff, of the same color and appearance as the hairs of the
carpet.
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And then, as Tumithak looked beyond the grass and the
trees, he beheld a wonder that surpassed all the other
wonders that he had seen, for hanging low in the dome above
the trees was the light of the Surface, a brilliant,
blinding orb that lit up, redly, all that vast space of the
Surface.
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Speechless with awe, Tumithak looked upon the sunset.
Again came the dizzy, sickening rush of agoraphobia, but
with it came a sense of beauty that made him forget his
fear, and gradually calmed him. After a while he turned his
eyes and looked in the opposite direction; and there,
towering high above him, were the homes of the shelks!
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Fully a dozen of the high towers were visible,
obelisk-like they stood there, their metal walls gleaming
redly in the light of the sinking sun. Very few of them
stood perfectly erect, the strange unearthly artistic sense
of the shelks causing them to be built at various angles
from the perpendicular, some as much as thirty degrees. They
were of varying heights, some fifty, some as much as two
hundred feet high, and from their tops long cables hung,
linking all the towers together. Windowless they were, and
the only mode of ingress was a small round door at the
bottom. Not one of all these towers was more than fifteen
feet in circumference, so that they gave an appearance not
unlike a bundle of huge needles.
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For how long the Loorian gazed at these amazing
scenes, he could not tell. Of all the wondrous sights, the
strangest, to him, was the sunset, the gradual sinking of
the great red light into what seemed to be the floor of the
vast chamber. Even after the sun had disappeared, he
remained gazing absorbedly at the walls, which still glowed
redly where it had been. . . . And then—
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Tumithak had not heard a sound. Lost in wonder though
he was, his ears had remained instinctively on the alert,
and yet he had heard nothing. Until suddenly there was a
scratching, rustling noise behind him and a clattering,
metallic voice barked staccato words of command.
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“Get—back—in—that—hole!“ it spat, and Tumithak’s blood
turned to water as he realized that a shelk had stolen up
behind him!
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The next second seemed a year to the Loorian. He
turned to face the beast, and in that turning a thousand
thoughts raced through his mind. He thought of Nikadur and
Thupra, and of the many years that he had known them; he
thought of his father and even of his little remembered
mother; he thought, strangely enough, of the huge Yakran
that he had tumbled into the pit, and of how he had bellowed
as he fell. All these thoughts rushed through his mind as he
turned and then his arm flew up to protect himself. Utterly
instinctive, the action was; it seemed that he was not in
control of his body at all. Something outside of him—greater
than himself—caused him to flex his fingers, and as he did
so the revolver, the last of his father’s three strange
gifts, spat flame and thunder! As in a dream, he heard its
spitting bark, once, twice, thrice—seven times; and into the
shallow pit tumbled the dead body of the shelk!
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For a moment, the hero stared at it dumbly. Then, as
the realization that he had accomplished his mission came
over him, a great feeling of exultation seized him. Quickly
drawing his sword, he began to slash at the ten long
finger-like legs of the shelk, humming, as he did so, the
song that the Loorians sang when they marched against the
Yakrans; and though there were strange questioning clacks
and clatters from the direction of the homes of the shelks,
he methodically continued hacking until the head was free
from the body.
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Then, realizing that the voices of the shelks were
much nearer, he stuffed the bleeding head into the bosom of
his tunic, and sped like the wind down the steps of the
corridor.
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CHAPTER VII - The Power and the Glory
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Tumlook of Loor, the father of Tumithak, sat in the
doorway of his apartment, gazing out into the corridor. It
was a lonely life that he had led for the past few weeks,
for although his friends had tried to cheer him with the
customary optimistic chatter, he could see that they all
believed that his son would never return. And indeed, it
would have been a bold man that would argue that Tumithak
had even so much as passed the city of Yakra.
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Tumlook knew the opinions of his friends and he was
beginning to believe as they did, in spite of the fact that
they did their best to make him think that they expected
wondrous things of his son. Why, he wondered, had he ever
let the youth depart on such a hopeless quest? Why had he
not been more stern with him, and driven the idea out of his
head while he was still young? So he sat and berated
himself, in this hour just before the time of sleep, as the
life of Loor passed by him in an irregular, intermittent
stream.
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After a while his face brightened a little. Coming
down the hall toward him were the two lovers whose long
friendship with Tumithak had made a bond that Tumlook felt
that he had somehow inherited. Nikadur hailed him, and as
they drew near, Thupra ran up and kissed him impulsively on
the cheek.
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“Have you heard aught of Tumithak ?“ she cried, the
question that had become almost a form of greeting between
them.
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Tumlook shook his head.
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“Is it likely” he asked. “Surely, after all these
weeks, we must look upon him as dead.”
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But Thupra was not to be discouraged. Indeed, of all
Loor, it is probable that she alone still maintained the
confidence that amounted to a certainty that Tumithak was
safe and would return in triumph.
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“I think he will return,” she said now. “You know, we
are sure that he reached Yakra. And has not Nennapuss told
us of the huge giant that was found dead at the foot of the
Yakran shaft? If Tumithak could conquer such a man as that,
who could overcome him?“
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“Thupra may be right,” said Nikadur, gravely. “There
are rumors in Nonone of a great panic in Yakra, during which
a man of these corridors is supposed to have passed through
the town. The rumors are vague and may be only gossip, but
perhaps Tumithak did reach the dark corridors.”
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“Tumithak will return, I know,” Thupra repeated. “He
is mighty, and—” she paused. Far tip the corridor, her ears
caught a sound and she listened questioningly. Then Nikadur
heard it, too, and last of all, it reached the ears of
Tumlook.
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A shouting, a distant shouting that grew louder even
as they listened. Several passing pedestrians heard it, too,
and paused; and then two men turned and hastened off in its
direction. The trio strained their ears in an endeavor to
distinguish the meaning of the cries. Several more men came
speeding up the corridor, running in the direction of the
noise.
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“Come,” cried Nikadur suddenly, consternation written
in his face. “If this be a raid of the Yakrans—” In spite of
the cries of Thupra, he sped off, and Turnlook hesitated
only long enough to dart back into his apartment and arm
himself before he followed.
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Thupra, however, was not to be left behind. She caught
up with Nikadur in a moment, and in spite of his
protestations, persisted in going with him. And so the
three, joined, soon by many others, rushed on in the
direction of the excitement.
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A man passed them, running the other way. “What is
it?” came a chorus of a dozen voices, but the man’s only
answer was an unintelligible gabble of words as he ran on.
The crowd’s ignorance was not to continue for long, though,
for at the very next turn of the corridor, they beheld the
cause of the tumult.
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Down the corridor came marching an incredible
procession. A group of Loorians led the parade, dancing and
cheering like mad, while behind them came marching a
well-known figure—Nennapuss, chief of the Nononese, with his
retinue of officers. Nennapuss was followed by what must
have been almost the entire population of Nonone, all
gabbling and shouting madly to the Loorians whom they
passed. It was not at the Nononese that the Loorians stared,
however, but at the ones who followed them. Behind
Nennapuss’ men came a crowd of Yakrans, each carrying aloft
a white cloth on a stick that still, after so many hundreds
of years, denoted a truce. Datto was there, the burly chief
of the Yalcrans, and his huge nephew, Thopf, and many others
of whom the Loorians had heard from the Nononese, and there,
high on the shoulders of two of the mightiest Yakrans, was
riding—Tumithak!
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But when the eyes of the Loorians looked upon
Tumithak, they looked no further. For the sight they beheld
was so incredible that it seemed impossible to believe that
they were not dreaming.
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He was dressed in garments that, to their eyes, were
beautiful beyond telling. They were of the finest texture
imaginable, sheer gauzes that were dyed in the most delicate
shades of nacreous pinks and greens and blues. They flowed
down over his form, clinging to his body and giving him all
the appearance of a god. Around his head was a metal band
not unlike a crown, such a band as legend said the king
shelks were wont to wear.
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And, most unbelievable of all, he held his arm aloft,
and in his hand was the wrinkled head of a shelk!
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Tumlook, Nikadur and Thupra never knew when they
joined the crowd. One moment they were rushing down the
corridor toward the incredible procession, the next, it had
absorbed them and they, too, were a part of the howling,
enthusiastic mob that fought and laughed its way toward the
great square of Loor.
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They reached the crossing of the two main corridors
and formed an immense crowd with Tumithak and the Yakrans in
its center. The crowd continued its chattering and cheering
for some moments and then Tumithak, mounting the stone
pedestal that had long been used for speakers, held up his
hand for silence, Quiet reigned almost instantly, and in the
lull, the voice of Nennapuss, that instinctive master of
ceremonies, could be heard.
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“Friends of Loor,” he cried. “Today is the day that
will live forever in the archives of the three cities of the
lower corridors. It has been unnumbered years since the
three cities have all met on a friendly footing, and to
bring that about it has taken an event so incredible that it
is well-nigh impossible to believe. For at last a man has
slain a shelk—”
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He was interrupted by the booming voice of Datto, the
much-decorated chief of the Yakrans.
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“Enough of this talk,” he shouted. “We are here to do
honor to Tumithak, the Loorian, who has slain a shelk. Let
us shout and sing songs in his praise. Let us bow to him,
Nennapuss, we who are chiefs, let us call upon the chiefs of
Loor to bow to him also, for who could slay a shelk if he
were not far greater than we.”
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Nennapuss looked a little nettled at having been
interrupted at his favorite pastime, but before he could
answer, Tumithak began to speak. And at his word, Yakran and
Nononese alike listened with respect.
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“Fellow Loorians,” he began. “Brothers of Nonone and
Yakra, it was not for honor that I journeyed to the Surface
and slew the beast whose head I hold in my hand. Since I was
a boy I have felt that men could fight with shelks. It has
been the ambition of my life to prove that fact to everyone.
Surely no citizen of Loor was less of a fighter than I.
Many, indeed, have scorned me for a mere dreamer of dreams.
And I assure you that I was little more. Can you not see
that man is not the weak, insignificant creature that you
seem to think? You Yakrans have never cowered in fear when
the men of Loor came against you! Loorians, have you ever
trembled in your apartments when the Yakrans raided your
halls?
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“Yet the cry of ‘Shelk!’ will send you all fleeing
panic-stricken to your homes! Can you not see that these
shelks, although mighty, are only mortal creatures like
yourselves? Listen to the story of my deeds, now, and see if
I have done aught that you could not have done”
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He took up the recital of his adventures. He told of
the passing of Yakra, and though the Loorians cheered a bit
there was silence among the people of Yakra, and then he
told of the dark corridors, and the Yakrans, too, cheered as
he recited his story of the slaying of the dogs. He told of
the halls of the Esthetts, and in glowing colors described
to them the beauties there, hoping that he might arouse in
them the desire to possess these beauties.
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And then he tried to tell them of the Surface, but
here words failed him; it was hardly possible, in the
limited vocabulary of the corridors, to tell of the things
he had seen. So he went on from this to tell of the slaying
of the shelk, and at last the story of his return.
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“For some reason the shelks did not follow me,” he
said, “and I reached the first halls of the Esthetts in
safety. And here I was discovered, and had to fight a battle
with a half dozen of the fat ones before I could go farther.
I slew them all,” Tumithak, in that sublime unconscious
conceit of his, failed to say how easy it had been to
slaughter his huge opponents, “and taking from them these
garments, continued on my way.
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“I came again to the dark corridors, but even here no
one opposed me. Perhaps the terrible smell of shelk was so
great that the savages feared to come near me. So at last I
came to Yakra, and found that the woman whom I had met on my
upward journey had told her story to Datto, the chief, who
was ready and eager to do me honor on my return home. And so
I came to Nonone, and after a time to Loor.
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He ceased his story, and again the crowd broke into
cheers. The cheers increased, echoed back against the walls
until the great hall range like a bell. “Great is Tumithak
of the Loorians!” they cried, “Great is Tumithak, slayer of
shelks!” And Tumithak folded his arms and drank in the
praise, forgetful for the moment that his entire mission had
been to prove that it did not take a great man to kill a
shelk.
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After a while, the tumult began to die and the voice
of Datto was heard again.
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“Loorians,” he shouted. “For many, many years, the men
of Yakra have fought unending war with the men of Loor.
Today that war ceases. Today we have found a Loorian who is
greater than all Yakrans, and so we fight with Loor no more.
And to prove that I speak truth, Datto bows in allegiance to
Tumithak
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Again the cheers, and at last Nennapuss arose.
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“It is a good thing that you have clone, O Datto,” he
said, “and truly Tumithak is a chief of chiefs if there ever
was one. Now there has been little enmity between Loor and
Nonone in the past, and so our cases are different. For it
is said that in the olden clays, the people of Loor and
Nonone were one. Thus, we hear of the days of the great
chief, Ampithat, who ruled—” here Datto whispered something
fiercely into his ear, and the Nononese flushed and went on,
“But enough of that. Suffice it that Nennapuss, too, bows to
Tumithak, chief of chiefs and chief of Nonone.”
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Again there was a great demonstration and after a
while, Datto began to speak again. Would it not be a seemly
thing, he asked frowning fiercely, for the Loorians to
recognize Tumithak as their chief also, thus making him
king of all the lower corridors? The Loorians raised a
cheer, and then Tagivos, the eldest of the doctors, arose to
speak.
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“The people of Loor have a government somewhat
different from that of Nonone and Yakra,” he said. “We have
not had a chief for many years. However, it might be a good
thing for the three towns to be united and so I will call a
meeting of the council to decide on it.”
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The council was soon grouped together; Tagivos,
Tumlook and old Sidango leading them, and after a while they
announced that they were agreed to recognize Tumithak as
their chief also. And so, amid wild cheering, that made it
utterly impossible to distinguish a word that was said,
Tumithak became chief of all the lower corridors.
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Datto and his huge nephew, Thopf, the foremost of the
Yakrans, were the first to swear allegiance to him, then he
accepted the fealty of Sidango, Tagivos and the other
Loorians. It gave Tumithak a queer feeling to touch the
sword of his father and to hear his oath, but he maintained
his dignified bearing, and treated Tumlook in just the same
fashion as the others, until the ceremony was over. Then he
called for attention.
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“Friends of the lower corridors,” he said. “A new day
dawns for man today. It has been over thirty years since war
has visited these corridors and in all those years men have
almost forgotten the arts of war. We have lived in a spirit
of slothful peace, while above us the enemies of all mankind
have grown stronger and stronger. But in making me your
chief, you have ended that era of peace and brought upon
yourselves new lives of action. I will not be a peaceful
ruler, for I, who have seen so much of the world, will not
be content to skulk idly in the deepest corridor. Already I
plan to lead you against the savages of the dark corridors,
to claim those halls as our own, and to fill them with the
lights that still gleam in the deserted corridors that we no
longer use.
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“And if we conquer those savages, I shall take you
against the huge Esthetts to show you what beauty can do for
the life of man. And the time will surely come, if the High
One be willing, when I shall lead you against the shelks
themselves, for what I have done, every one of you can do,
and shall do.
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“And if anyone feels that the task I call upon you to
do is too great, let him speak now for I will not rule over
man against his will.”
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Again the cheers broke out, and gathered volume, and
rang from wall to wall of the great square. In the
excitement and enthusiasm of the moment, there was not a man
in all the crowd that did not feel that he, too, might
become a slayer of shelks.
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And while they cheered and sang, and worked themselves
into a frenzy, Tumithak stepped down from the stone and
strode off in the direction of his home.
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The End
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